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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 





























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PORTRAITS OP AGNES HONTINGTON AND SIDNEY WOOLLETT. 


THIS NUMBER CONTAINS 

The Passing of flajor Kilgore 

By YOUNG E. ALLISON. 

COMPLETE. 


MONTHLY MAGAZINE 


CONTENTS 


THE PAS8IN6 OF MAJOR KILGORE 

. Young E. Allison 


1-76 

The Editor-in-Chief. (With Portrait) . 

. Col. Alex. K. McClure . 



77 

Great Pan is Dead 

. Henry Peterson 



83 

The Decline of Politeness .... 

. Amelia E. Barr 



84 

My Love and I 

. Albert Pay son Terhiine . 



88 

The Triumph of Mogley .... 

. Robert Neilson Stephens 



89 

A Fragment 

. Daniel L. Dawson 



9 f 

With the Gloves — Boxing. (Illustrated) . 

. Daniel L. Dawson 



96 

“The Young Girl” 

. Frederic M. Bird . 



104 

At Dawn 

. Joh?i B. Tabb 



106 

The Interpreter. (Sidney Woollett) 

. Julian Hawthorne . 



107 

The Gudewife 

. James Whitcomb Riley . 



112 

Agnes Huntington 

. J. F. R 



113 

On a Blind Girl 

. John Ernest McCann 



116 

Consolation for the Ugly Girls 

. Frances Albert Doughty 



1 17 

The Botts Twins 




119 

As it Seems 




121 

A Literary Conversation .... 

. Julian Hawthorne . 



125 

“A Frenchman in America” 

. Melville Philips 



127 


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■A— t MO AAAA 



THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


(TOLD BY THE CITY EDITOR.) 


BT 



YOUNG E. ALLISON. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


TZ5 




Copyright, 1891, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 




Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


\ 




1 


LIPPINCOTT’S 

MONTHLY M AGAZINE - 

JANUARY, 1892. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 

(told by the city editor.) 


CHAPTER I. 

THE AGONY OF JOURNALISM. 

M R. CORCORAN, the Managing Editor of the Democratic Banner , 
instead of being a big and magnificent commander of the varied 
intellectual forces under him, and in spite of his sounding name, was a 
very small man, with absorbed habits and a temper that at times was 
subject to eruptions rivalling those of Vesuvius in their awful height. 
All the newspaper men from the wide section in which the Democratic 
Banner had its large and supreme circulation, who came in to call 
upon the staff when visiting the city, expressed surprise after being 
introduced to him and went away with reverence transformed into 
wonder. They were, most of them, correspondents of the Banner in 
their various localities, and their acquaintance with the Managing 
Editor had been mostly confined to certain telegrams of instruction 
concerning the news treatment of events of the occurrence of which 
they had notified him by telegraph. These instructions were laconic 
but sonorous, like these : 

Rush one hundred words fire. 

Corcoran. 


or,— 

Rush two thousand words double murder. File by pages. 

Corcoran. 

Perhaps it was something in the ring of them, like the short, sharp, 
but sounding bulletins signed “ Napoleon,” and which used to carry 
with them to England and her allies impressions of a giant stripped to 
the belt to eat all Europe at a meal, that gave to the country corre- 


4 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


spondent, waiting upon the Managing Editor’s awful nod for an intima- 
tion of “ space,” the idea of Mr. Corcoran, imposing, solemn, and con- 
centrated, his fingers upon telegraphic keys, directing with the intuition 
of a genius that none of them could understand, and with the confidence 
of absolute knowledge, the destinies of his army of correspondents. 

This impression was dissipated in surprise, but not in disappoint- 
ment ; for when one correspondent, duly promoted to a destiny that 
once seemed too high to win, became City Editor of the Democratic 
Banner itself, he found Mr. Corcoran to be a journalist of such varied 
accomplishments that the admiration of him and the respect for him 
succeeded to the awe* of him once mingled with wonder. Mr. Corco- 
ran hated the miserable contemporary with true ardor, and when the 
faithful staff of the Democratic Banner had “ scooped,” humiliated, and 
utterly defeated it with some glorious “ exclusive spread” he never 
spared his commendation. There were times when it might appear to 
other journalists that Mr. Corcoran sacrificed the local news space to 
telegraphic news that was not of equal importance; but, after all, that 
is a question never, perhaps, to be definitely settled. 

Mr. Corcoran’s temper and vitality were so utterly disproportioned 
to his size as to render the members of the staff who served under him 
curious as to how he contained them. He swore in all the keys that 
awake sympathy or startle guilty neglect from its dream of being 
overlooked. There were times, notably when the midnight mail was 
delayed, when his temper and profanity swelled out in such awful 
unison that those of the staff who chanced to be lounging within 
reach disappeared from his presence as before pestilence. Not that he 
ever directed his profanity at any of them; on the contrary, it was the 
abstract subject upon which he usually concentrated a picturesqueness 
of condemnation that was effective. It was not impulsively- and noisily- 
poured-out profanity, like steam emptily escaping through a valve ; it 
had in it the sound of an earnest expression of deep-seated personal 
conviction upon the subject to be damned. And the City Editor and 
the reporters, stilled from gossip and apparently plunged in the 
onerous demands of their work, would furtively watch the Managing 
Editor as he stalked up and down the hall, devoting to tortures and 
destinies beyond any but the most earnest and ingenious conception the 
responsible carriers of the United States mail and their unquestionable 
accomplices the railroad company. 

Napoleon met Wellington. Mr. Corcoran occasionally met the 
Old Man, — that venerable fount of all authority, who was almost an 
office myth, we saw him so seldom. Not the Old Man in disrespect, 
or even in uncalculated flippancy, but the Old Man in tones inter- 
changeable from affection to authority, from respect to sorrowful 
reproach; meaning, always, wherever he may be in firm authority, the 
supreme type, — the Old Man. There were times when Mr. Corco- 
ran met him, — the Old Man, who thundered away at the tariff with a 
roar like the guns at the front of Gravelotte ; who fought with the 
fury of fine despair every step that threatened the progress of sound 
currency legislation; who pointed out our national mistakes in the 
trade with Brazil and bitterly and fearlessly criticised the policy of the 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


5 


British towards the oppressed millions of India. The young men on 
the force used to wonder, not where he got his knowledge, but how he 
worked up his interest in it. And while he trained the great guns 
on distant exposures and scanned the universe with a jealous eye, 
that talented band of humble subordinates wrote, without much in- 
terference, a minute history of the vicinity that met the demands of 
average intellect. 

But sometimes the Old Man looked to earth and sent in “ copy” 
that gave the office over to despair and wretchedness. It was when it 
came in quantities sufficient to consume three-quarters of the news 
space, was about something in which no mortal man could possibly 
take interest, and was unappealably marked “ Must,” that Mr. Corco- 
ran would make his appearance wearing a bitter smile in which there 
was a trace of pathos, showing that the iron had gone home. 

“ Cut ’em short, Mr. Brown,” he would say briefly to the City 
Editor, but with a tremor in his voice, betraying that there were depths 
of agony beyond the relief even of profanity, — “cut ’em short this 
evening : the Old Man is editing again. I’ve got nine columns of solid 
stuff over there : report of a symposium of the Jackson County Agri- 
culturists on the wheat weevil. It has got a one-line head over it, and 
there’s a two-column editorial to go with it, pointing out the importance 
of knowing how to detect and prevent this insidious blight of our agri- 
culture. All but the first ten lines shows that if we lose our agricultural 
supremacy we shall inevitably lose our supremacy as a nation.” 

“ Nine columns !” the City Editor echoed, in dismay and sympathy. 

“ Nine columns !” re-echoed the Managing Editor ; and the con- 
firmation of the calamity seemed to afford its own relief in the utter 
absurdity of such a flood upon such a subject. 

“ That’s one of the pleasures,” he continued, with a smile that was 
now philosophical and resigned, “ of trying to run a newspaper for a 
man who thinks he is editing a Review. I’ve ‘ killed’ two columns of 
splendid crimes, that scandal about Senator Billings and the Pension 
bill, and have just told the Telegraph Editor he might go home. If 
anything good comes, the janitor can read it in the waste-basket in the 
morning. In the mean time, the first page will be nine columns of 
wheat weevil and a paragraph on Congress.” 

There was a dead silence, full of sympathy. 

“ I can’t understand,” resumed Mr. Corcoran, “ how a man can try 
to edit a modern newspaper after the standard of thirty years ago.” 
Of course, he admitted, it was none of his business. It was not his 
paper. It was the Old Man’s. If the Old Man wanted his (Mr. 
Corcoran’s) assistance to run it, it was his (Mr. Corcoran’s) business to 
render that assistance cheerfully and ungrudgingly, — to oil, as it were, 
the downward slant along which, he gloomily concluded, everything 
was rapidly and unerringly going to the devil. 

To all of which the City Editor lent sympathetic response. And 
roundly they criticised the Old Man, — not in anger or in contempt, but 
in sorrow, as one defacing his own noble work in misdirected zeal. 
And while Mr. Corcoran retreated to his room to commune with hope- 
lessness, the City Editor bore the dreadful message to his own assistants. 


6 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“ Cut that prize-fight just half in two, Mr. Burke,” he said quietly 
to the Sporting Editor, who, stripped to the waist, figuratively speak- 
ing, was immersed in a description of one of the toughest battles on 
record. 

“ What for ?” was Mr. Burke’s prompt response, in which quick- 
springing indignant protest was mingled with inquiry. “ Is the paper 
getting moral, or is this particular fight a little too ferocious for the 
tastes of our readers ?” 

Mr. Burke rose to his feet, and a frown betrayed his annoyance at 
the interruption of the frenzy in which he had been composing details 
of carnage that would enable his constituency to enjoy the battle again. 

“ Oh, no,” said the City Editor, “ we are not more moral, but we 
are short of space. The Old Man treats of the wheat weevil in nine 
columns to-morrow.” 

“ The wheat weevil !” cried Mr. Burke, in a poignant burst of de- 
spair. And he adjured me solemnly, bitterly, and profanely, in the name 
of a locality since revised out of its accustomed alphabetical position, 
to tell him “ what the wheat weevil was , and how” — in the name of 
that same locality — “ did it ever come to be worth nine columns in a 
modern newspaper !” 

“ Those are questions,” said the City Editor, with a sarcasm that 
betrayed his pique, “ that you might ask the Old Man. And when you 
go over to ask him, tell him that you’ve got a column prize-fight, and 
perhaps he’ll hold the wheat-weevil matter over for a few weeks to 
oblige you.” 

Whereat Mr. Burke expressed the willingness that death might 
overtake him in one of its most sudden and awful forms if he ever 
had a good thing that he wasn’t ordered to cut the very life and soul 
out of it. 

There was a scene of much the same import when Mr. Forrest, the 
Dramatic Critic, realized that his column review of Miss Johnston’s 
first appearance as “ Rosalind” at the Grand Theatre must be shrivelled 
into a dry recital of forty lines of fact. As he walked loftily out of 
the office on his way to lunch, he admitted, with scathing irony, that, 
after all, the wheat weevil was too little understood in our community, 
and it was pleasant to feel that our paper had at last determined to 
correct an ignorance over which the civilized world must have long 
indulged deep grief. 

“ Thanks,” said Tom Kirby, the Police Reporter, cheerfully. “ The 
police record is brief to-day, and I will go home and enjoy the sight of 
Mrs. Kirby’s happiness at my presence.” 

The Religious Editor, writhing and swearing his way through a 
tremendous report of the revival sermon, alone expressed boisterous 
joy. Give him wheat weevil or give him death, — either was a relief 
from stuff like this ; and couldn’t the City Editor persuade the Old Man 
to run the wheat story as a serial all summer? 

“ Come on, Burke,” he added, enthusiastically, to the crushed Sport- 
ing Editor, “you can tell the prize-fight to me at lunch. Pour out 
upon this loyal bosom all the details of how Big Mike won the glorious 
victory !” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


7 


And Sullenness linked with Joy went out together for lunch, along 
with all the other young gentlemen of the force. 

And, all being gone upon that same errand, the City Editor sat down 
to some silent reflections of his own over the bright and entertaining 
page of local news which he had been patiently building into a thing of 
beauty all the evening, and which was now dulled and defaced by this 
sudden necessity from the quarter of high authority. 

Ah, who but a journalist — himself carrying a moist eye and a melt- 
ing heart over similar memories — should be admitted to pass the veil 
and look upon the scene? None but he can conceive the utter dis- 
couragement of such a situation. For the daily newspaper is every day 
a new being, having its own evanescent life and soul and character. 
One day may be but a measure of development for the editorial char- 
acter of a journal, but the news of each day is created fresh from the 
elements, and the record thereof must stand alone for itself. The damp 
sheet which you open so eagerly at your break fas t-table, my dear sir, is 
just about to decline and die, having reached in your hands and under 
your eyes the ultimate object of its creation. There was none of it in 
existence yesterday morning when you put aside the other, after absorb- 
ing all the stimulus of news, of suggestion and enlightenment, that its 
columns contained. Within the twenty-four hours another has been 
entirely created, instinct with every phase of life that has been revealed 
since. What was yesterday’s history ? Why should you care, if it has 
been happy to you ? But, whatsoever it has been, here it is. Not one 
single line or thought or idea of it but has been patiently sought out, 
tested, weighed, nursed, and deftly fashioned to fit with marvellous com- 
pleteness into every other line and thought and idea in it. And to the 
patient toilers of the press it seems like a child of the bosom brought 
forth in so much travail and sent forthwith away forever, like those 
children of slave mothers sold away from the very heart of love. And 
each of these toilers has the particular part of it which is his own, which 
is his toil, his care, his pride, his satisfaction, his child. And so, you, 
madam, who, fortunately, are not a slave but a happy mother, — can you 
imagine how you would feel if that handsome boy in your arms, upon 
whom you are expending so much love and care, and in whom I can 
see, by the torchlight of fond expectation that burns in your eyes, the 
manly stay of your advancing age, — if the heavy hand of some mis- 
fortune should distort those lovely young limbs or dwarf that perfect 
young form, how would you feel ? It is not an answer for your husband 
to laugh lightly and say he knows newspaper men who do not feel that 
way. Perhaps he does, more’s the misfortune of it. Perhaps there 
are some mothers who do not feel as you do, madam, towards their 
children. But are they types of mothers ? Is the question worth an 
answer ? 

So, then, the true journalist only may be permitted to pass this veil 
where the City Editor sat with his shattered idols and silently nursed 
his grief. 


8 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE ETHICS OF MAJOR KILGORE. 

When the members of the staff had returned from lunch, it was 
easy to see that the City Editor’s feelings were generally shared. 

“ It’s tough !” said Mr. Burke, sitting upon the table and swinging 
his legs dejectedly, while he exhaled a great lungful of cigar-smoke in 
such a manner as to give his protest the appearance as well as the sound 
of an explosion. And by “ tough” he meant that the curtailment of 
the story of the prize-fight was, in his estimation, unmixed hardship 
and misfortune. “ It’s tough,” he said, u to spend a whole night out 
shadowing sports for a ‘ scoop’ on those creatures down at the Gazette, 
and then, by gad, have the stuffing knocked out of the whole snap by 
a mile of infernal rot about the wheat weevil. What encouragement is 
there to lose sleep and work the head off yourself just to get razzle- 
dazzled by your own people ?” 

Eloquence, rude, picturesque, often requiring translation into simple 
every-day phrase, was characteristic of Mr. Burke in moments of excite- 
ment or deep feeling. 

“ It is tough,” assented the Religious Editor, emitting a thin and 
satisfied spiral of smoke from his cigarette, — “ that is, it’s tough on you ; 
but, still, I’d sooner sit all night and count nails in a floor than write 
sermons.” 

“ Oh, it’s tough !” snorted Mr. Burke, again. “ It’s things like 
this that make a fellow feel like getting clear out of the business. I 
would get out, by gad, if it were not the finest life in the world, with 
all its drawbacks. Say what you please, it’s the only profession in 
which a man can see life as it is.” And Mr. Burke quickly counselled 
his disappointment with enthusiasm. 

“ I’m glad I’m not a young lawyer, or a doctor, or some clerk or 
other,” he continued. “ We make those sort of people, by gad, and it 
makes you proud of your profession when you know what it is.” 

“ Now you’re shoutin’,” echoed the Religious Editor, and somewhat 
irrelevantly added, “ So, I say, what’s one prize-fight gone wrong, 
alongside the imperial advantages of the profession generally ?” 

Whereupon Mr. Burke, putting aside vain regrets, apostrophized 
the Fourth Estate, and, with swelling periods, marshalled in the pic- 
turesque language of the world of sport, moved up to and repeated as 
a grand climax the fact, indisputable to him, that journalism was the 
only profession in which a man could see life. 

“ Which,” interrupted Mr. Forrest, in his steady and utterly cynical 
tone, “ is impulsive and beautiful, but unfortunately only half true, if 
true at all. If, when you say that journalism enables you to see life, 
you mean that it gives you a sort of king’s commission to indulge every 
sort of wild excitement, to meet every temptation and witness every 
corruption that prowls about a city while it leaves you to your own 
wits and the devil’s own mercy to shun and resist them, why, you are 
right. But what does that amount to ? Any loafer who has no char- 
acter to lose has the same privilege and can exercise it better. But if 
you mean something serious by seeing life, what advantages does jour- 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


9 


nalism offer ? There is not a man on the Banner staff who has talent 
who does not know that if he had developed that talent outside of 
journalism he would be earning a better living and be growing older 
with a happier and safer prospect.” 

Mr. Forrest paused. The Religious Editor looked bored. Mr. 
Burke laconically said, u Come again !” And the others were listen- 
ing intently. For, despite the Dramatic Critic’s generally irritating 
assumption of superiority, he was respected and admired. His eyes 
were alight with earnestness, and, seeing that he was about to enlarge 
philosophically on the topic, there was quiet attention. 

“ No,” he resumed, rising to the opportunity, “ there is nothing in 
journalism but opportunities against which your hands are tied, and 
hopes that end in disappointment. It is true, it has its allurements. 
It is a tremendous spring into ether for a young fellow, full-blooded 
and intelligent, to be told, ( Here, take the mantle of Haroun Alraschid 
and go see all there is of human nature. It will take you, with the 
very least responsibility, to conventions, — anywhere ; because you are 
the messenger of the press and are charmed against the ordinary bullets 
of gossip.’ And this is true. Think of the penalty a young lawyer or 
confidential clerk would pay if he were to be seen where the reporter, 
because he is expected and assigned to do so, goes with impunity ! 
And what does he see? The whole leprous procession of evil file before 
him like an endless cavalcade of shadows moving to hell ! Virtue, 
peace, happiness, comfort, — these are negative sights for experience in 
the life that the reporter must explore. To see the life he deals with, 
you must watch always the portals wherein those who enter leave hope 
behind. It is true that a study of this awful back-yard of life is 
enough to give the inspiration of reaction to one who scans it for the 
benefit there is in it. It is worth seeing because, unless you have seen 
it, there will always be something important you do not know about 
the world you live in. The only excuse one may make for not know- 
ing it is that ( ignorance is bliss.’ But if ignorance is bliss it’s rapture 
to be wise. Yet think of the logical results of constantly studying 
such a view of life. The journalist who deals with news deals always 
with the wretched. Peace, contentment, happiness, have no news that 
cannot be summed up in a paragraph ; but crime, — pride, lust, excess, 
treachery, — these spin you histories upon which the world has turned 
and upon which it is turning to-day. If you write news — which is 
history — you write these, you dwell upon them, and saturate yourself 
with their unutterable meanness and selfishness. They weigh upon you, 
they fight down your feeble guard in some careless hour, and sooner or 
later, if you do not fall under them, you are possessed with them as 
the one thing important and all-interesting and representative, and 
then, if you started out a gentleman, you end by being a cynic.” 

The Religious Editor seemed a little contemptuous, but he repressed 
expression. He envied and admired the Sporting Editor, dreaming of 
a day when he should succeed him or assist him, when the sermon 
would be succeeded by the battle, the song by the slogan. And the 
Sporting Editor envied and admired the Dramatic Critic; so he shut 
his teeth, shook his head, and responded to the eloquent burst with 


10 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


this admission, expressed by a shake of the head : “ Old fellow, you 
are, perhaps, half right.” 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Forrest, misinterpreting that mute avowal, “ you 
won’t? Well, think over your newspaper friends and tell me how 
many of them are not cynics. How many of them believe in that 
honest old story told them at their mothers’ knees ? how many of them 
admit a doubt when rumor of the cruellest and most anonymous sort 
stabs anybody ?” 

Mr. Burke’s newspaper friends were chiefly the reporters; they 
comprised the profession to him, as they did to the other young men, 
who regarded the editorial and critical departments with mild resigna- 
tion, as they regarded the counting-room with despair and contempt. 
So in answer to Mr. Forrest’s question he exhaled a great pillar of 
tobacco-cloud nervously. 

“ You sneer at the lawyers and doctors and clerks as at the un- 
initiated,” continued Mr. Forrest, pitilessly. “ They live in the real 
world, to which the newspaper reporter rarely penetrates except when 
sorrow has preceded him. They build up homes, fill them with happy 
families, accumulate money, and work out the destinies of their talents, 
making the world which you see exaggerated as on the stage, — for you 
deal only with the exceptional. How many reporters grow up and build 
fine homes and fortunes? And yet the profession of journalism is 
filled with men of exceptional talent and capacity, who if they had 
been trained to the detail of business might have succeeded in life. 
What becomes of the young man with literary aspirations, quick sensi- 
bilities, and deft address who thought that his study of human nature 
on a newspaper staff would give him equipment for his work ? I can 
show you a dozen of him ended up in a common row of cynics and 
failures, glad at last of twenty dollars a week, and not worth it. 
Why, take one practical example of my idea. Look at Major Kil- 
gore ” 

The Religious Editor laughed aloud. Mr. Forrest hesitated, and 
then said, parenthetically and with dignity, “ I know some of you do 
not like him, but I know his worth, and I do like him. Look at 
Major Kilgore,” he continued, “a man of the clearest business mind 
and the finest practical intelligence. With his knowledge of banking, 
of the laws of trade, of the tendencies of forces in population and the 
significance of demand and the capacity of supply, if he had gained 
all that while making his way up in a business house, he might have 
been to-day a man of independent fortune, instead of earning a beg- 
garly forty dollars a week in a position from which he can never escape. 
But now, nearly fifty, at an age when men have usually accumulated 
their competences in business interests and are realizing the joys of 
ease and the happiness of domesticity, he slaves his life away, shut out 
from all the pleasures of home. But he has ‘ seen life.’ No, he has 
not even seen that : he has discharged his duty with the fidelity of a 
knight of the Holy Grail. He has kept his character and his good 
habits, and all the satisfaction he will ever have lies in that, and that he 
has compelled the world to believe the results of his work because his 
life compelled confidence.” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


11 


Mr. Forrest paused here and observed the effect of his homily. It 
had made its way home to nearly all, whether they accepted its ideas 
as facts or not. It was well and fairly spoken. But there were doubts 
as to the Kilgore proposition. Not doubts, exactly, either, but — well, 
the fact is, Major Kilgore was not popular, and the young men would 
have preferred some other personality as the hinge upon which to hang 
the illustration. 

“ I am aware,” said Mr. Forrest, deliberately, “ that Major Kilgore 
is not liked by some of you. That counts against you, not against him. 
I know him to be an honest, right-living man, against whose integrity 
nobody can whisper. He may be cold, reserved, and unfortunate in 
his manner, but it is from such as he that the profession of journalism 
draws its strength. No man doubts him ; no man relies upon him in 
vain ; and he has given great capacities to sacrifice in his life as a jour- 
nalist.” 

I believe from that night dated a change in the attitude of the whole 
local force towards Major Kilgore, who had been for more than twenty 
years the right hand of the Old Man. He it was who wrote the dis- 
passionate articles upon the tendencies of trade and the prospects of the 
market. He studied the statistics and analyzed the analyses. No state- 
ment wandered idly from his pencil. When it reached paper it had 
fought its way through thrice-armed files of tests, proofs, and experi- 
ments. Occasionally he left these fields, studded with the artificial 
flowers of mathematics, and trained his theoretic pen upon monopolies 
and the plutocrats that he could always see hiding behind them. Then 
the thunder of his great guns would mingle with the universal clamor 
of the Old Man’s armament, until in the grand unison they seemed 
one, and nobody but the initiated could tell which gunner was doing the 
execution. And during all these years he was a solitary, unbending, 
morose, and friendless man. He came and went like a deliberate shadow, 
speaking seldom, making no complaints, asking no favors, and creating 
about him an atmosphere in which respect, fear, and dislike mingled. 
He had been a brave soldier in the civil war, and it was vaguely known 
that he had twice gone upon the field of honor, and thought that the 
abolition of the code duello was the abolition of gentlemanhood in the 
United States. He never offended others, and it was tacitly accepted 
that he would permit no offence to himself. The idea, somehow, got 
out that Major Kilgore stood in a position of perpetual readiness to 
kill any man who gave him an affront that was recognized under the 
old code as deserving the trial at arms, for the reason that, as he could 
no longer demand satisfaction under the code, he must take it on the 
spot. Nobody jested with him; nobody directed practical jokes at his 
desk ; he wore his stiff dignity as a Roman toga. His tall, angular, 
and unbending figure, the high and rigid cheek-bones, the cold but 
clear eyes that never lighted up with the fire of any enthusiasm and 
scarcely ever even with the warmth of a recognition that went beyond a 
mere glance of identification, — all these were in keeping with his char- 
acter, his mind, and his habitual conduct. 

“ And he talks,” said Mr. Burke, one night, discussing him un- 
favorably, “ with that regular and slow deliberation, by gad, that seems 


12 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


to say, ‘ No haste of mine shall disturb the regular vibrations of the 
universe !’ ” 

But Major Kilgore was always perfectly polite ; painfully so. He 
went through those twenty years of life an isolated man. He had 
moods, and his temper was so hasty that at times it seemed that cold 
and imperturbable mask was set around it as a guard. Sometimes it 
rose to a violence that manifested itself sharply but coldly, as if he 
fully understood the consequences and was ready to assume them. 
Perkins, the Religious Editor, had been but two weeks on the Banner 
when one morning a young man came into the office demanding ven- 
geance for some objectionable paragraph concerning himself that had 
been carelessly allowed to creep into the department of the Sunday 
paper technically called in the office “ Society Slush.” The furious 
young man found Mr. Perkins in, who explained to him that the 
Society Editor was a young lady and therefore could not be subjected 
to the “ thumping” so freely promised. 

“ Yes,” said the intruder, not at all believing, and delivering him- 
self with direct irony; “yes, Pve heard he was. I heard it before 
this here stuff about me being engaged to Mary O’Brien was put into 
the paper. But you just show him to me.” 

And with no further hesitation Mr. Perkins conducted the young 
man to the door of the apartment occupied by Major Kilgore, and 
mutely directed him to enter. Nobody knows what passed within ; but 
a few moments later the violent breather of frightful threats reappeared, 
looking pale and nervous, and instantly passed down and out of the 
building, shorn of his former war-footing as though he had emerged 
from a universal convention of peace. That evening, as I sat at my 
desk, Major Kilgore entered, and, addressing me with deliberate and 
terrible earnestness, said, — 

“ I would thank you to inform . . . the young man who edits your 
religious notices . . . that if he is ever again impertinent enough to 
direct strangers ... to my desk as that of the Society Editor, ... I 
shall cane his humor out of him !” 

And then he walked out, leaving the office under the influence of a 
complete and oppressive silence. 

“ And, by gad,” said Mr. Burke to Mr. Perkins, breaking that silence 
as soon as Major Kilgore’s retreating footsteps made it safe to do so, 
“ he didn’t even do you the honor of giving you a name in his com- 
munication.” 

It will be readily understood that the major was not popular with 
the force; and yet Mr. Forrest’s defence of him made a great change in 
the view taken of his character and eccentricities. We realized him 
for the first time at his worth, as a representative of the good name and 
the honor of the profession. He went into the little back rooms of 
banks and talked with the arbiters of fortune ; he knew the great mer- 
chants whom reporters approached with awe ; he went about clothed in 
his integrity and ability, and people said of him he was “ a journalist,” 
and we began to recognize that in him the corps had a color-bearer after 
whom it was honor to march. 

“ A man has a right to his ways,” said Mr. Burke, reviewing his 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


13 


own opinion judicially, “if he doesn’t try to make everybody else walk 
in ’em. Major Kilgore won’t stand any jokes, and he don’t put ’em up 
on other people ; he doesn’t encourage people to come around and talk 
his arm off, and he doesn’t talk anybody else’s arm off.” 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE READING OF THE TRAGEDY. 

I can look back upon that time with positive gladness and recall 
how Mr. Forrest’s little speech opened up more cheerfully the life of 
that solitary and friendless man. All of us were much more careful than 
before to speak pleasantly to him as we met him in the hall, and little 
by little it appeared he might come within the influence of the vigor- 
ous human sympathies that were pulsing in the office. Occasionally 
he would stop at one of the desks and in his perfectly solemn and 
formal manner — in which the ghost of a cold, gentle smile now and 
then was perceptible — remark upon some current subject of local dis- 
cussion or “sensation,” and it was invariably noticed that he was 
well informed upon what he remarked. It began to be a matter of 
pride to the members of the staff that so intelligent a man was follow- 
ing them in their labors and giving his thoughts to the same questions. 
In a degree they were as glad of his approval as of that of old man 
Longworth, the copy-reader, whose marvellous information was looked 
upon as little short of supernatural. But with all Major Kilgore’s 
kindness his approaches seemed to bear the evidence of having been 
planned in deliberate politeness and as some sort of acknowledgment 
of the tacit new feeling that had sprung up towards him. It required 
months to round out his acquaintanceship and remove some of the 
stiffness which never did, in fact, wholly pass away from intercourse 
with him. 

But it became tempered with the evident desire all around to 
lighten the intensity of the relations existing between Major Kilgore 
and the remainder of the staff of the Democratic Banner. The feeling 
between the major and Mr. Forrest ripened into something like cor- 
diality before our eyes, — into something as much like cordiality as 
the major’s nature could exhibit. He would listen with grave interest 
to Mr. Forrest’s critical discussions of the relative merits of actors and 
his earnest protests against the corrupting tendencies of the modern 
drama, a theme upon which the force believed — and some of the mem- 
bers did, in fact, express themselves to that effect — Mr. Forrest had 
been wound up on some system of perpetual motion. Major Kilgore 
would listen and emphatically approve. Though why he approved 
was not easily to be explained. He never went to the theatre, nor did 
he indulge in any other diversions of which the force was informed. 
But, whatever the justification he had for approval, he certainly 
approved. 

“ Mr. Forrest,” said he one evening to the City Editor after such a 
discussion had been raging and the Dramatic Critic had departed, “ is 
a young man of fine culture, ... of perfectly correct principles, . . . 


14 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


principles which, if honestly adhered to in any man's pursuit in life, 
are — sure to make him successful. . . . His ideas of the value of plays 
are eminently good. ... It argues a clean and a — pure mind when it 
will not compromise with . . . evil tendencies. ... It is honorable to 
be associated in work with a young gentleman of such principles.” 

This expression drew from Mr. Perkins, when Major Kilgore had 
gone, the opinion that there was a “‘set-up job’ between Forrest and 
old Kilgore to make a ‘ mutual admiration society’ of themselves.” 

Their respect for each other had the effect of unconsciously in- 
creasing the respect that all of us felt for both. Both were somewhat 
unsociable beings, but their faults were on the side of serious and 
strong character. And the boys had their jokes upon the intimacy. 
The Religious Editor swore that he believed Mr. Forrest “ was trying 
to work old Kilgore to get a note discounted at one of his pet banks,” 
and Mr. Burke suggested that “ maybe old Kilgore wants to get 
acquainted with the ballet-girls.” 

It was a curious intimacy. The major would descant to Mr. 
Forrest upon the intricacies and the curiosities of finance, venting in 
confidence the contempt he felt for the incapacity of certain bankers 
and financiers to anticipate movements which were plainly inevitable, 
and which contempt he could not properly express in the paper. 
There is no mystery now about the admiration each felt for the other’s 
acquirements in his own ^field. There was no clash, no motive for 
jealousy. Each needed just such a reservoir for confidences, and each, 
being a good and patient listener, felt in the other that touch of sym- 
pathy which he required to strengthen his views. 

How vividly it comes back to me yet, the pleased surprise of that 
Sunday evening when Major Kilgore invited me to dine with him, 
Mr. Forrest being of the party ! Pride was pardonable, because the 
major ranked me in the organization of the staff, and, while Mr. For- 
rest was nominally a subordinate, his duties practically elevated him to 
an independent position. The dinner was served in the little room at 
Allen’s, where we put our legs under a little round table and from 
sherry made a happy progress to champagne and cigars. Major Kil- 
gore proved a tractable host. The chill that was upon his manner 
melted out somewhat under the warmth of good cheer, and the ghost 
of that gentle smile came and went and came again, seeming to gain 
confidence each time and stay longer. 

“ And now,” said he, at length, when the cigars were pouring out 
great volumes of fragrant smoke, “ it is time to make ... let us say, 
confession,” he abruptly concluded, turning to Mr. Forrest, who there- 
upon gave evidence of some embarrassment, but defended it with a 
courageous attempt to smile. “Yes,” continued the major to me, “it 
is a confession. Mr. Forrest promised me . . . something, Mr. 
Brown, which I asked his permission to . . . share with you, because 
I know you are also his friend. . . . Mr. Forrest has occupied his 
leisure by writing a play, and he has promised to read it to us.” 

When he concluded, Mr. Forrest was watching me for results of 
the announcement. But I believe I succeeded entirely in concealing 
the numb feeling that it was a dreadful price to pay for even so good 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


15 


a supper. A city editor is naturally no hand for plays. He is editing 
and handling in real life, all the time, plays beside which the measured 
and artificial creations of the stage are tame and empty. But not for 
worlds would I have made that confession apparent. 

It was under these circumstances, then, that the celebrated tragedy 
of “ Caligula” first became known beyond the precincts of the author’s 
knowdedge. Mr. Forrest read the five acts through, with a rich and 
sympathetic voice, stopping at times to hurriedly suggest the action or 
to rise and indicate with vigorous gesture the climaxes of his scenes. 
Through it all Major Kilgore accompanied him with increasing inter- 
est, in the expression of which his gravity assumed the quality of 
actual tenderness. 

“ Capital !” he would cry occasionally, and then the author’s eyes 
would light up and his exposition of the idea would find relief in 
explanation of details. 

It was a revelation to see the old man emerge thus from the isola- 
tion that had bound him. I remember wondering, as I watched him, 
whether he had ever before really touched human sympathy and 
immersed himself so deeply in self-forgetfulness. 

“ A splendid story, sir !” he cried, when Mr. Forrest had concluded. 
“ Splendid ! . . . worthy of your principles, . . . representative of 
fine talents. ... It carries me back to days at school when we read 
such things ... in our Latin. ... I have never heard them 
since. . . . Men, sir, do not talk now as you make them talk. . . . 
It is the product of mind, sir. You ought to have it acted.” 

To this I made some sort of echo, in good feeling if not entirely in 
good faith. Mr. Forrest had unquestionably pitched his tragedy in a 
high key. It spoke a language never spoken in life, and there were 
heights to which it was not easy, for me at least, to follow him. 

“ No,” said Mr. Forrest, laying his manuscript book upon the table, 
and turning with a sad smile to the major as he replied to his sugges- 
tion, — “ no, it will not be acted ; for the very sufficient reason that 
the theatres where new plays are produced want pieces made up of 
ballet-girls or sensational women, and the theatres where tragedy is 
played will try nothing that has not been approved by age.” 

“ How Foolish !” said the major, using the large capital F in 
emphasis. “How can theatrical managers close their eyes to the 
meritorious . . . and open them to the meretricious ?” 

“ Simply,” answered Mr. Forrest, with a laconism absent from his 
play, “ because it pays.” 

Of the three friends who walked home together in the early morn- 
ing, full of the buoyancy of a night off and good cheer, it would have 
been difficult to choose the happiest : the old major, who strode along 
occasionally insisting that the play should be acted, that he had not 
since boyhood heard such a treat, and who occasionally rolled out a 
sounding Latin quotation from one of the old text-books, which, he 
said, had the same ring as some of Mr. Forrest’s passages; Mr. Forrest 
himself, elate and proud, filled with an author’s first swimming intoxi- 
cation of applause ; or the City Editor, very well satisfied with himself 
and his acquaintances, and feeling somehow the importance of being in 


16 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


such a secret and the awful responsibility of having to keep it. But 
perhaps the greatest happiness was felt by Major Kilgore, who was deep 
in the beauties of the Latin he had learned at school, and whom I over- 
heard muttering sonorously the vigorous propositions of the “ Carmen 
Seculare.” 

A few days after the reading of the tragedy of “ Caligula,” Mr. 
Forrest approached me privately and with some hesitation of manner. 
“ Brown,” said he, “ I want to impart a secret to you for the purpose 
of asking your friendly advice. Major Kilgore has set his heart upon 
my arranging and adapting my play 1 Caligula’ for acting, and he offers 
to stand the expense of its production.” 

“ Nonsense !” said I, smiling at the comicality of the idea involved 
in Major Kilgore’s becoming a royal supporter of the drama. 

“ No ; not nonsense, so far as his standing the expense is concernod,” 
answered Mr. Forrest. “ He is amply able to do so. You will, of course, 
consider it a personal confidence when I tell you that the major went in 
on the bull movement in wheat which began three months ago, and has 
made a barrel of money.” 

“ I’m heartily glad to hear it !” was the City Editor’s prompt ex- 
clamation. True, a barrel of money was a somewhat indefinite sum, 
but it was a figurative amount offered and accepted in good faith as 
applying to any sum so far beyond individual needs with which we 
had any acquaintance as to imply difficulty in making arrangements to 
spend it. 

“It is true,” continued Mr. Forrest, “and he insists upon my pre- 
paring the play for production. Now, there are two questions : Do 
you think I ought to accept this opportunity from him ? and, Do you 
think the play is good enough to try ?” 

And, remembering his ideas about the play when it was read, and the 
fate of that eminent literary critic SefLor Gil Bias, the City Editor took 
warning by the dreadful records of history, and quickly and solemnly 
pronounced thus : “ I certainly think it would be proper to accept the 
major’s offer, if he can afford it ; but as to the merits of the play, you 
know, Forrest, that my opinion is of no value. You would know better 
than anybody else in this town whether it would make a fine acting 
play or not. Bring me a sensation, and I’ll tell you how many columns 
it is worth in to-morrow’s paper, but I’m ignorant of the theatre. I 
know the value of a horse-race or the good points of a country fair 
sufficiently to adjudge space to either; but I would not dare advise you 
upon a literary question.” 

With which Mr. Forrest went away perfectly satisfied. For all he 
wanted, of course, was advice upon the matter of accepting the money 
offer of Major Kilgore. As to the merit of the play, he knew better 
than any of us could know, and he was long ago satisfied of that. And 
the City Editor did not know, until weeks and weeks had passed, what 
was the result of the conference in which he had given Mr. Forrest 
such capital advice. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


17 


CHAPTER IV. 

COUNT MEAGHER, OF PARIS. 

I think — yes, it must have been about this time that the famous 
Irish Count Meagher made his appearance in town. Mr. Burke soon 
formed the count’s acquaintance, and through this means discreet men- 
tion of the count’s name began to be made in the columns of the Demo- 
cratic Banner : a score or more paragraphs can be found in the files, 
if any one cares to take the trouble to look them up. At first he was 
spoken of as Mr. Francis Meagher, but as the romantic story of his 
life began to creep out, from some mysterious source of authority which 
was never discovered, he began to be spoken of in print and by word 
of mouth as Count Meagher. Mr. Burke knew the story as quickly 
as anybody else, you may be sure, and the first paragraph in the files 
where “ Count Meagher” succeeds “Mr. Francis Meagher” in the idle 
gossip of the day will tell very accurately when Mr. Burke first learned 
the bit of history that was interesting to all of us as we listened to it 
under piles of smoke. He was, it appeared, the son of the brilliant 
Dennis Meagher, whose decision as captain of a company of the Garde 
Rationale (on the night when the Due de Morny made his famous ap- 
pearance in the box at the Grand Opera in Paris and lulled the enemies 
of monarchy to sleep) struck the first violent blow that was to make 
Louis Napoleon the successor of his uncle within four days and the 
occupant of an imperial throne. True, Dennis Meagher lost his life, 
but not until he had been made a count of the tinselled Empire that 
sprang like a spark from the blow he struck. And when the son had 
grown up with nothing but the empty title and the father’s bold de- 
cision reinforced by the suggestions of a shrewd mother, he went to 
the due and said, — 

“ My father was the first officer of the Garde who drew his sword 
for the Emperor. He was made a count, and I, his son, have nothing 
but the title and the miserable pension upon which my mother has 
subsisted since her husband’s death. I come to ask for service where 
I can show myself worthy of what my father would have gained had 
he lived.” 

And the due was pleased with the air and tone of the youth ; and 
then began that devotion of the captain’s son to the minister of the 
Third Empire which never wavered until the due was dead and had 
consigned his prot6g6 to the Emperor himself. When Metz fell, Count 
Meagher had no inducement to stay in France nor to seek an asylum 
with the dethroned monarch in England. Whatever his reasons, he 
had been a wanderer, subsisting, it was whispered, upon some princely 
means saved out of Fortune’s favors while the due smiled upon his 
career. And here he was, looking at the country leisurely, as became 
a gentleman of his experience, middle-aged, but robust and vigorous, 
examining the fine horses and cattle, amusing himself with a little 
gambling that was sometimes for high stakes, with sporting affairs, 
with gentlemen who had leisure for such things themselves, and speak- 
ing English without a trace of accent, unless it were the shadow of an 
honest Irish brogue which his mother might have instilled into him, as 
Vol. XLIX. — 2 


18 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


became the wife of an Irish soldier. True, he used French words 
occasionally, but not pedantically, and he seemed always to regret when 
he had done so. 

Count Meagher was six feet tall and more, upright, with a stalwart 
figure not in the slightest inclined to flesh. His shoulders were broad, 
and his carriage was that of a soldier on a long furlough, inclined a 
little to be careless and languid, but wont in a moment to become quick 
and erect when attention was demanded. He had a strong, dark coun- 
tenance, with gray eyes that were full of intelligence and as restless as 
possible, and which were set under heavy black brows, each of which 
seemed like the horse’s tail surmounting the golden crescent of Morocco. 
His nose was a straight beak, perhaps a trifle short for the long face, 
and which may have stopped where it did in order to give the mous- 
tache room to grow in its luxuriance. The only features that were 
distinctly Irish were the strong cheek-bones, and the massive chin with 
a straight mouth containing hungry-looking white teeth which were 
often seen when he was in a good humor. And, lastly, the influence 
of France was to be seen in the imperial whisker which adorned his 
chin. 

“ That’s a cracking good story,” said the Religious Editor, when 
Mr. Burke had concluded : “ I would like to meet Aim.” 

“ Well,” suggested Mr. Burke, with irony that was lacking in 
nothing but keenness, “ suppose you give a little dinner, young fellow, 
and have him there. About twenty covers, with a fish, a grouse or 
pheasant, three wines, and the cards afterwards.” 

And the laugh was uproariously against Mr. Perkins, who endured 
it good-naturedly enough, and expressed his regret that his salary at 
present was in low spirits and needed careful nursing under the phy- 
sician’s orders. 

But no vain consideration of poverty ever operated to restrain the 
instinct by which Mr. Perkins extended his acquaintance. He had 
been employed only a few months when that acquaintance began to 
embrace all the elements that respond in cities to the advances of Bohe- 
mia. Mr. Forrest had met him behind the scenes at the theatre, where 
all the company hailed him cordially, and his indiscrimination made 
for him friends even among the ladies and gentlemen of the variety 
halls. Politicians took him aside, put their hands on his shoulders, 
and talked earnestly. The sporting fraternity knew him, and he knew 
all its members by the severest abbreviations of their Christian names 
or by those picturesque sobriquets won upon the field of green and the 
turf of sport. All sorts of people called at the office and asked for 
him, — from the sibilantly-speaking young sensational clergyman (with 
the publication of a pet sermon in view) who asked for “ Young Mis- 
teer Pairkins,” to the tough politician from the down-town ward who 
put his head in at the door and snorted out an inquiry for “ Perk.” 
He received more mail than any other reporter on the force. The 
letters were variously addressed to him as “ Editor of the Banner ,” 
“ Sporting Editor,” and “ Reporter of the Banner” There was always 
on his desk in the morning a little pile of these communications, 
addressed to him by name with these descriptive titles, and there was 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


19 


an idea in the office that Mr. Perkins was regarded by a large and 
active portion of the community as the directing genius of the paper. 

“ And I wouldn’t be surprised a bit,” said Mr. Burke one day, “ if 
he thinks he is, and tells these people so, too, by gad.” 

There was very little surprise, therefore, the next night after the 
telling of Count Meagher’s story when Perkins informed Mr. Burke 
that he had met the count. 

“ And if he is a count,” added Mr. Perkins, off-hand, “ he is away 
off my idea of counts gained from reading books. He was playing 
billiards with Fennesy, the gambler, and was drinking beer. But he’s 
a good feller, and I marked the game for his majesty, and he set ’em 
up to the beer.” 

And thus began an acquaintanceship between Perkins and Count 
Meagher that was as close as it was unexpected. For the count, though 
he could be gay and animated when he thought proper, was a discreet 
and cold man at times, while Perkins rioted in exuberance. Nobody 
could withstand the fine swell of animal spirits that lifted him above 
any tinge of sadness and overflowed to delight and amuse everybody. 

The count would occasionally drop in towards midnight, ask for 
“ Misther Perkins,” with an assumption of brogue for the effect, and 
perhaps insist upon all of us going with him to lunch in the private 
room at Allen’s, where he himself would troll in a rich barytone, and 
Perkins would sing in a sweet and high tenor “ Stolen Kisses are 
Sweetest” and “ Believe Me, if All those Endearing Young Charms.” 
The count would occasionally favor us with some French ballads, which 
he intimated were more or less wicked memories of the finest reign and 
the fastest career in history. And we never knew but that they were, 
for we had no knowledge of the French language except as it was 
fragmentarily contained in the appendix to the office dictionary and 
was sometimes laboriously spoken by the members of the staff in 
notices of social and semi-polite occasions. These French songs 
would bring Perkins out at his best, and he piped “ The Bowld Mc- 
Intyre,” “ The Irish Grenadier,” and other racy reminiscences of the 
variety stage. Then he could dance a wonderful jig, and imitate the 
negro as he appeared on the stage and was never known in life. 

Count Meagher was a good Bohemian, at least as far as these appear- 
ances went. True, when the fun was highest and the bottle circulated 
most actively, he always remained cool and collected. He sang cheerily 
and he laughed delightedly, but the slightest mention of any subject 
in which he felt a personal interest instantly brought a look of close 
attention into his eyes. Sometimes a suggestion of doubt as to his title 
and the accuracy of his personal history would be interjected into the 
little circle of his associates there, but nobody paid any attention to this 
shadow of scepticism, perhaps for fear the flavor of the mystery might 
be lost. And to this loyalty to his good qualities were due many 
evenings of good fellowship, of fast and furious but really innocent 
fun, in Allan’s private room. 

There were nights when the count had apparently no means of 
employing his time, — even the theatre palled upon him ; and, although 
he won with unvarying regularity at the gambling clubs, he would 


20 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


occasionally try to avoid them, and on such nights could not be per- 
suaded to enter one of them, unless some eager loser of the night before 
would banter him for revenge and insist upon it with so much perti- 
nacity that the count would get up with a big sigh, go with his tor- 
mentor, and — win again. Whether he had any other income than that 
which came to his purse over the card-table it was unnecessary to know. 
Certainly he won enough to keep him in luxurious style, and he scat- 
tered the winnings with a prodigal hand. There was nothing mooted 
of a sporting character that he did not seem willing to bet on either 
side; though there was certainly something almost approaching the 
marvellous in the luck with which his seemingly careless wagers always 
won themselves out. 

The acquaintance with Mr. Perkins grew closer all the time, and 
it was not long until Count Meagher was so nearly regarded as one of 
the staff that those criticisms which the active and predatory spirits 
of the local news force were always ready to direct at the general policy 
and special mistakes of their superiors were freely expressed in his pres- 
ence. And he knew the secrets of the city and the springs of influence 
better than even the average townsman. If he did not gather them in 
the office, Mr. Perkins regaled him witli them in privacy. And upon 
such subjects, it must be confessed, Mr. Perkins had accumulated a 
wonderful store of information, celebrated for its accuracy when retailed 
in the presence of discretion, and equally famed for its fanciful varia- 
tions when narrated to the eager ear of credulity. And at least one 
member of the force believed that Mr. Perkins improved in the breadth 
and style of his treatment of the incidents of local history that came 
under his pencil from association with the count and a ready and dis- 
creet absorption of the cosmopolitan views and experience there met 
with. 

They were certainly together the night that Mr. Perkins discovered 
the celebrated actress Miss Amelie De Harte, who became so well known 
to us under her right name of Rosalind Baker. Mr. Forrest, absorbed 
by some more pressing duty, had asked Mr. Perkins to drop in at the 
theatres during the evening and “size up the houses.” At eleven 
o’clock Mr. Perkins came in and handed me a notice which recited the 
fact that the usual large audience had gathered at the Grand Theatre 
to enjoy the continued performance of “ The Silver Bell” burlesque. 
And then followed this paragraph : 

“ Our city has good reason to be proud of the success of Miss Amelie De 
Harte as Elvira. She took the part on short notice in the absence of Miss 
Darnaby, and made a gorgeous success. Old timers at the show said she was 
away up better than Miss Darnaby, and that she is bound to be a great success. 
She was called out after every act, and received great applause. Miss De Harte 
certainly has a great future before her, and has every prospect of becoming a 
Queen of Burlesque.” 

Apart from the language in which this verdict of unseasoned 
acumen was expressed, and which was a sufficient objection to its pub- 
lication, the City Editor felt that any critical praise bestowed ought 
first to be approved by the Dramatic Critic. So he carefully condensed 
the enthusiastic paragraph into the mere colorless statement that, — 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 21 

“ Owing to the illness of Miss Darnaby, the part of Elvira had been taken 
by Miss Amelie De Harte on short notice.” 

And then, placing the interdicted paragraph in an envelope for Mr. 
Forrest’s personal attention next day, he casually and properly explained 
to Mr. Perkins that no opinions could be expressed in the department 
of theatrical criticism that were not prepared or approved by Mr. 
Forrest. Whereupon Mr. Perkins profanely wondered what he had 
been sent to the theatre for, unless, indeed, Forrest expected him to 
count heads in the audience and time the performance ! Then he went 
off and swore himself into forgetfulness over the religious paragraphs 
that were beginning to come in for Sunday’s paper. But the failure 
of the paragraph to find publication rankled in his heart, and he told 
the City Editor next day that it was not a “ square deal to the little 
girl who had done so well, to make her lose a good notice.” 

“ Oh, well,” replied the City Editor, — who had often to compose 
these differences of profound opinion between departments, — “ perhaps 
Miss Darnaby is still unable to act; and if she is, Mr. Forrest will 
give Miss De Harte a good notice, — even to-night, perhaps.” 

“ Grown people,” rejoined Mr. Perkins, bitterly, “ much less babies, 
would be choked on an ‘ if’ like that. Darnaby will hear how well 
De Harte acted the part, and then Darnaby would get up out of a death- 
bed to play and keep her out of it. I know the profession ! Then 
you know Forrest /” 

Type cannot convey the tone of mingled despair and resignation in 
which the last sentence was pitched. 

“ You know,” he continued, “ there’s nothing good for him on the 
stage unless Shakespeare wrote it, and no good actors unless they have 
played before all the crowned heads of Europe or died in the last gen- 
eration. Forrest never gives anything new half a chance.” 

But Mr. Forrest did give Miss De Harte a chance. Luckily for 
that gifted young creature, Miss Darnaby’s indisposition continued, and 
the young debutante shone in the rdle of Elvira. Mr. Forrest read the 
paragraph which had been referred to him by the City Editor, smiled 
a scornful and superior smile, carefully crumpled it in his long white 
fingers, and dropped it into the waste-paper basket, among the odds 
and ends of rejected police items and the other manuscript victims of 
the City Editor’s fatal blue pencil. 

When he came in from the theatre that night, however, he per- 
formed an act that gave Mr. Perkins glorious revenge in remorse and 
poignant delight. He put Mr. Perkins’s crude ideas into the finished 
and scholarly form of critical diction, and thus apostrophized the new 
star that had risen on the horizon at the Grand Theatre : 

“All hail the new flower that springs in the garden of art! Unexpected 
but most delightful incidents in the run of ‘ The Silver Bell’ have been the first 
appearances of Miss Amelie De Harte in the part of Elvira. Habitu'es of the 
Grand have doubtless frequently observed Miss De Harte in a humble place in 
the ballet, where her graceful figure, beautiful face, and modest air attracted 
attention. Friday morning Miss Darnaby, who has heretofore enacted the 
witching Elvira so charmingly, was seized with severe illness. At rehearsal it 
appeared that the evening’s performance would certainly have to be given over. 


22 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


It was somehow ascertained, however, that Miss De Harte at least knew the 
part, and indeed it turned out she knew every part, and forthwith she was taken 
from the ranks of the village maidens and moved up into the Castle Delight to 
act the role of the mistress of the mansion. And she has acquitted herself with 
the greatest credit, winning the hearty applause of the crowded theatre. Not 
only did she know her part, but it was evident that she had observed with 
intelligence and rare judgment, for she displayed unusual tact, composure, and 
inspiration for a debutante. True, there was a little nervousness at first, but 
that soon wore off, and in the popular third. act, in the ball scene, where Elvira 
kicks the wineglass out of her elderly suitor’s hand and elopes in the confusion 
with her soldier lover, she gave the situation electric vitality and was called 
before the curtain several times. We predict for Miss De Harte great success as 
an artiste. It will be interesting to many in this city to learn that Amelie De 
Harte is her stage name only, and that she is the daughter of ‘Uncle Dick’ 
Baker, the efficient stage-carpenter at the Grand. Her mother was the favorite 
Madame Prewitt, who died many years ago, but who is well remembered by the 
older generation of play-goers. Miss De Harte evidently inherits genuine his- 
trionic fire.” 


CHAPTER V. 

THE NEW STAR MAKES A HIT. 

Miss Amelie De Harte’s brilliant debut gave to the Grand 
Theatre its season’s most pronounced success, and to the department 
of discriminating dramatic criticism on the Democratic Banner a repu- 
tation for prescience that was accepted by Mr. Forrest with indifference. 
Mr. Perkins regarded the triumph with a delight that was unconcealed. 
He began to speak of dramatic topics in a tone of decision and authority. 
When Miss Darnaby recovered, after a week’s illness, she was consider- 
ately urged by the management of the theatre to take a needed rest and 
change of scene for a few weeks, and the stage-carpenter’s pretty daughter 
continued to shine in the glories of u The Silver Bell,” kicked the wine- 
glass out of her elderly suitor’s hand nightly at ten o’clock, and im- 
mediately eloped out of the back window at the extreme depth of the 
stage centre amidst the wildest applause of audiences that never seemed 
to weary of the new and captivating Elvira. Mr. Perkins was often 
a delighted spectator, — occasionally even when the thunders of revival 
eloquence launched in the church only a few blocks distant seemed like 
indignant reproach directed at his absence from reportorial duties over 
which he swore feelingly and solemnly in protest and despair. Count 
Meagher’s dark and somewhat distinguished face was nightly to be seen 
in the Grand. And he hung on the outskirts of the audience and viewed 
the stage through gold-tipped ivory glasses which seemed to concentrate 
his gravest attention at those moments when Miss De Harte was on the 
scene. 

Both of them enjoyed the debutante's wonderful success in their 
way, — the count with the appreciation of a veteran connoisseur, and 
Perkins with mere sympathetic delight in the triumph of a young and 
astonished novice, rather than from any knowledge of the artistic 
proportion and value of that triumph. 

Of course Mr. Perkins knew Miss De Harte well, as he knew all 
sorts and conditions of people. And one by one he carried off the 
members of the Democratic Banner staff* and made them look at the 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


23 


performance from before the foot-lights, after which he would take 
them around to the stage door, where some intimate and occult rela- 
tions established with the keeper thereof admitted him into the chaotic 
wilderness behind the curtain. And, one by one, we were all solemnly 
introduced to the beautiful girl of nineteen, with a long shawl drawn 
domino-like about the fleshings and satin which when she was on the scene 
accentuated every line of grace in her lithe figure. She smilingly shook 
hands with all of us as Mr, Perkins presented us, always adding, as he 
did so, the assurance that each “ was one of the Banner boys,” in a tone 
that implied a sort of considerate ownership in the entire staff. And 
there was nearly always standing somewhere, dimly and unobtrusively, 
in the vicinity, as the City Editor saw, and as others observed, the grim 
but careless figure of a kindly-faced old man, attired in working-clothes, 
with his coarse shirt-collar flaring open and his sleeves half rolled up, 
who looked upon the animated face of the muffled beauty before him 
with an affectionate delight and a smile in which there were pride and 

j°y- 

“ And this is Uncle Dick Baker, — her father,” Mr. Perkins would 
add, in a tone that implied to us a sort of considerate ownership in 
Uncle Dick, and with a gesture that took in his figure. And Uncle 
Dick stepped forward with eager alacrity, shook the proffered hand 
heartily, and said to the City Editor, — 

“Pm glad to meet all the gents from the Banner , sir; and what 
do you think of her?” 

And I saw a little look of cruel embarrassment on the lovely face 
of the daughter as she heard the question. But it instantly disappeared 
and was succeeded by a smile. 

“ That’s father’s first question,” she said, archly. “ And I hope 
you will not think it necessary to answer it here. I am sure the 
Banner has been already so kind that we are glad to meet all the gen- 
tlemen.” And she laid her hand lovingly on the old man’s rough arm 
and balanced herself upon one foot and leaned upon him with an air 
of trust. 

“And I am sure,” replied the City Editor, calling up the sleeping 
spirits of polite commonplace by a supreme effort, “ that your father 
can only ask the question in a spirit of pardonable curiosity to discover 
if there are any dissenters from a judgment that has been so justly, 
universally, and enthusiastically expressed.” 

“ Father,” she went on, looking smilingly in his face as she leaned 
upon him and fondled his arm with her hand, “ is a great goose some- 
times, — especially about me ; but he can’t help that.” And then she 
seemed to talk to him as if they two were alone : “ Because you haven’t 
anybody else to be a goose about.” 

And she laughed merrily and patted the great rough arm again. 

What a beautiful picture it was ! I thought nothing I had seen 
her do on the stage under the battery of two thousand eyes was half 
so charming and pretty as that. 

And the old man looked fondly down upon her, and said she was 
like her mother, whom none of us young fellows remembered, because 
she had died before our theatre-going days began, — “ when she,” he 


24 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


said, nodding his head towards his daughter, “ wasn’t much bigger 
than a cat.” 

She was a beautiful girl, indeed ; with that appearance of fragile 
precocity that seems to be given by the eyes alone. She was blonde, 
with the fair hair — not golden nor red — falling profusely and seeming 
lighter in color because of its abundance, the locks straight upon her 
neck. And there was the mist of a faint down under the fine, small 
ear, and upon the pink cheeks, and even upon the bare arm that was 
stretched out from under the shawl, which yet gave to the fragility 
of her beauty a certain fleshliness of robust reality. Her eyes were 
big, blue, and babyish, her face oval and full, and the lips, rouged as 
they were, like split cherries, the upper one short and the lower one 
full. There was a little weakness in the chin that perhaps made up 
a look of childish helplessness. Bright and vivacious, she seemed 
keenly to appreciate her own position and her father’s, and to revel 
in the charm she exercised over the loyal group that surrounded her 
and gave to her wonderful advice connected with the path that led to 
the temple of fame. 

It is to be admitted that the first converts to her genius were among 
the regular frequenters of the house and the gallant band of Banner 
historians who had “ discovered” her, so to speak. But as she con- 
tinued in the part the duller thousands that formed the audiences grad- 
ually forgot that she had been promoted from the obscure ranks of the 
ballet before their very eyes. Soon they accepted her at what she 
really came to be, a winsome and wonderfully captivating spark of 
mimetic light and grace. She was in advance of her audiences in the 
evolution, for she seemed intoxicated with the delight of conspicuous- 
ness and success, and those who w T atched with eager eyes the develop- 
ment of her genius saw with surprise and delight the daring experiments 
with which she led up to successes, — the bold determination not to be 
a mere copyist of Miss Darnaby, but to make of Elvira a creation of 
her own idea. 

“ You can see in that girl,” said Mr. Forrest, “ the art instinct 
plainly visible, in the transformation that ensues when she steps on the 
stage in character. Notwithstanding she never forgets herself and 
always sees the friends ‘ in front,’ she yet seems lifted out of herself 
and into the character by an intoxication growing out of the knowledge 
that she can execute so well. Everything she attempts succeeds, and 
gives her a confidence in her power to execute which buoys her up and 
makes the execution delightful to her. That is the true instinct and 
impulse of the actor ; but in order to develop it and retain her power 
she must train herself to do all this by rote and calculation, after the 
inspiration has dulled. Nobody can command inspiration, but the 
great artist can always command the appearance of it so completely as 
to deceive the spectator and preserve the illusion long after the fact 
itself is dead.” 

We had the profoundest confidence in this analysis of the inspira- 
tion that was a palpable and delightful fact. She sang well, she danced 
well, she was glorious in all her costumes, she was grace itself; she 
had that melancholy air of most engaging innocence even in the broad 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


25 


suggestion of greatest abandon that appeals to the eye as the minor 
wail in music appeals to the ear in the midst of the wildest music of 
Offenbach. 

And the audiences saw her develop all these graces and powers 
without exactly knowing it, until suddenly she was in the blaze, a 
popular favorite, — in burlesque. 

Even Major Kilgore paid her a visit, he who so seldom visited the 
theatre that his appearance there was in itself the strongest confirmation 
that a new star had risen. In company with Mr. Forrest, he, too, 
sought the gloomy recesses of the stage, and was there introduced in 
formal fashion to the young actress carefully enveloped in her long 
shawl, who had none of the dash of Elvira in the glare of the foot- 
lights, but who, frank and unaffected, greeted him cordially and re- 
ceived his compliments. 

“ What did the major say?” asked Mr. Burke, when this stage of 
the narration was reached. 

“ He came out like the gentleman he is,” answered Mr. Forrest, 
“and told her she reminded him of Julia Dean at her best.” 

“ And this is what he said,” interrupted the irrepressible Perkins : 
“ ‘ Miss Baker, ... I have been delighted, ... I may say charmed, 
. . . by your acting. . . . I recall the beautiful Julia Dean . . . when 
she was at her best, . . . and you have all her genius . . . and . . . 
her grace. ... It is an honor to the stage when such talent appears; 
. . . and I hope to see you rival ... or eclipse . . . Miss Dean’s 
successes.’ After which,” concluded Mr. Perkins, “ the lady swooned 
away and fell unconscious upon her own dressing-trunk !” 

“ Well, I will admit,” said Mr. Forrest with a smile in the midst 
of the laughter, “that the major gave a full and finished turn to the 
compliment, and that the little Baker was properly overcome by it, — 
so much so that she did not know what to say in answer, and the 
prompter’s call rang like a wedding-bell to get us all out of it.” 

In three weeks the town had accepted “ Amelie De Harte,” as she 
continued to be professionally known : we knew her by her own name 
of Rosalind Baker. Never had such ready genius so quickly adapted 
itself to the work that was to make itself known. The fag end of the 
season was approaching, but the manager had determined to push the 
success as long as it should continue. Every night the winsome girl 
played, in the sheer exercise of her wonderful power, up and down the 
gamut of all the emotional expression that could be touched upon in 
the character : here a touch of exquisite pathos, there a bit of majestic 
dignity that would have become the Elizabeth of Ristori ; now a ten- 
derness that was entrancing, then a bit of broad and vigorous comedy 
that set the house wild with appreciation. We saw her genius like a 
triumphant star rising and shaking off the clouds on the horizon and 
preparing to go to its zenith. 

Major Kilgore had called on her behind the scenes again and 
again. That was certainly proof of her power, — that this isolated man 
could be charmed out of his isolation, from solitude into companionship. 
He was as loyal an admirer, in his way, as any of the young men of 
the staff And their admiration was loyal, unselfish and honest. The 


26 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


major’s visits were visits of state as compared with the others, and 
he expressed grave compliments to the young actress with a formality 
that was at times trying to all. Always he found a group of admirers 
about her between acts, and he made an effort to seem interested in the 
gay talk and nonsense that was reeled off. The frozen soul within the 
hard shell of his nature seemed occasionally to try to arouse itself and 
break out into the sympathy of common human nature. In the centre 
of the group Rosie, enveloped in her long shawl, would sit upon her 
dressing-trunk and be the merriest of all. And Uncle Dick would 
come wandering in occasionally from vast depths of darkness and 
gloom in the wings or underneath the stage, rub his hands, look 
pleased, and ask, “ What do you think of her now, gents?” and wander 
away again, full of his honest happiness and pride. 

While Major Kilgore tried to accept all the gay sallies as of course, 
he never lost his own gravity or the severe formality of his address. 
If he came in after the group had assembled, a sudden constraint fell 
upon all, and to his grave remarks — so commonplace, yet so earnest and 
admiring — Rosie made laconic answer of “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” as 
gravely again, — the best she could do. He seemed to chill her ; and 
so, by the way, did Mr. Forrest. It was almost sacrilegious to those 
of us who so deeply respected these earnest members of the force, to see 
her eyes light up and hear her laugh come leaping like the note of a 
bird when Perkins, immediately after some serious moment of this chill, 
would break in with some new story or comment that was all nonsense, 
chaff, and cheap wit. 

Nothing between heaven and earth, save fear, awoke reverence and 
respect in Perkins. 

Very frequently Count Meagher was there, with his smile that was 
wont to change to thoughtfulness at a moment’s notice, with his air that 
was always bland, with his manner that was sometimes preoccupied. He 
brought happy compliments and a readiness to promote any pleasure, and 
said things that we did not always understand, but which she understood, 
for she would laugh answers back with a nod or a look of intelligence. 

At such a moment it might be observed that Major Kilgore would 
cut his stay short. He did not so express himself, but it was evident that 
he did not like Count Meagher. When turns in the conversation 
brought them face to face, so to speak, the major grew even more 
formal than usual, and he snapped off his deliberately-spoken words 
very short indeed. This happened frequently as the count took occa- 
sion, in his bland and diplomatic way, to answer the major’s remarks 
and even to seek conversation with him. It seemed as if he were 
determined by the force of his ready address to conquer Major Kil- 
gore’s aversion. 

“ The old major,” said Perkins to Count Meagher, when they were 
one evening discussing this aspect of the situation, “ does not like you 
as much as a man loves his life, does he?” 

“ Major Kilgore does not dislike me, Perkins,” answered the count, 
easily. “ The major and I are older than you young fellows, and he 
naturally gives me the full measure of gravity due from one distin- 
guished gentleman of the old school to another.” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


27 


“ Yes,” said Perkins, banteringly, u he gives it to you cold enough 
to freeze, too, eh ?” 

One of those nights when we were all assembled in the double 
dressing-room assigned to her, Miss Rosie appeared wrapped in a hand- 
some cloak of dark silk, lined with gray fur, instead of the immense 
shawl in which she was wont to envelop herself when she came off the 
scene. The white throat that rose above, the soft collar and the daz- 
zling hands that peeped from the wide sleeves seemed all the more 
delicate and aristocratic from this soft contact with luxury, and the 
eager, radiant face was aglow with the expectation of effect. 

“ Enter Madame the Queen !” cried Mr. Forrest, in mock heroics, 
giving her therewith a profound obeisance. 

“ Madame does us the greatest honor,” echoed Count Meagher, 
adopting the tone, and giving her a salute so military and yet so grand 
that it might have been of the Third Empire. 

“ Madame,” declared Perkins, pulling himself together, smashing 
his hat in, and laying it across his chest to give her the burlesque 
salute of the stage dancing-master, “ is really and truly magnificent, 
and don’t you forget it.” 

And so she was. 

And I saw Major Kilgore with his eyes riveted upon that radiant 
beauty. He devoured every line of her face, smiled when she smiled, 
hung upon her words, and frowned when others spoke. And she was 
bubbling with delight and joyousness that she did not try to conceal. 

“ Madame,” she said, “ gives all her loyal friends permission to get 
to the front of the house before the act begins, so that they may see her 
enter in the royal robes. It will be the first time she has worn them 
since she succeeded to her crown, and she desires her friends to give her 
confidence.” 

And Rosie marched up and down the room with a noble step, her 
head carried high, and asked us if she seemed to have been sufficiently 
used to such magnificent robes to wear them easily. And then she 
minced across the floor and tried half a dozen steps, amidst the applause 
of the assembled gentlemen and to the great pride and delight of Uncle 
Dick, who came to the door and surveyed her with rapt attention. 

“ You do look like a queen, Rosie,” cried Perkins, — “ like the 
Queen of Diamonds.” 

“ And it is but natural,” said Count Meagher, “ that the Queen of 
Hearts should become the Queen of Diamonds to attain her true 
state.” 

Whereat there was a sudden frown on the face of Major Kilgore, 
who sat apart, watching the scene, his eyes drinking in the young 
beauty. 

“ And is that cloak,” asked Mr. Forrest, “ the first-fruits of your 
most beauteous majesty’s reign? Is it tribute from that astutest of 
prime ministers and prince of managers, — the Pillar of Art, — the one, 
the only lessee and proprietor, Fitzgerald ?” 

It was intended as nonsense, but the question blundered. Rosie 
answered nothing, but she shot a quick glance at Meagher, who gave 
no sign. But Uncle Dick from the door- way said, — 


28 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“ No, gents, that ain’t from Mr. Fitzgerald, but from just as good 
a friend of all of you and all of us, — Mr. Meagher !” 

Rosie continued to walk up and down the floor with the smile on 
her face, but the count instantly spoke up, his impassiveness gone. 
There was some constraint in his tone, however, and he seemed to 
speak lightly and mockingly by an effort. 

“ Thank you for that, Mr. Baker,” he said, and then, turning to 
us and making a sweeping gesture that comprehended Rosie enveloped 
in her cloak, he continued : “ Yes, gentlemen, this is an humble tribute 
that humble appreciation has begged the privilege of paying to Art. 
It will not be long until her majesty can array herself as a lily of the 
field from her income of next season : at least let us, her friends, hope 
so. But it is such trumpery as that cloak which gives Art its setting 
in the estimation of the canaille that fills the chairs in front of the 
curtain. I have begged her to let me advance this much until the 
golden rain of fortune descends upon her, and then she can — repay me 
— the money, but never the satisfaction of being permitted the pleasure 
of contributing to her success.” 

It somehow fell very flat, the stage tones and the mock gallantry. 
There fell at once a chill upon the company that was more real than 
apparent. The smiles which the whole scene had called up were still 
there, but I thought that the one on Forrest’s face was set and some- 
what foolish, as I knew my own was. Major Kilgore’s eyes blazed 
with scorn which he made no attempt to hide, and his face was a mask 
of tragedy. It was the first time that Count Meagher’s plentiful 
money had seemed to set him apart from us. As long as good inten- 
tions and sincere admiration were current coin in that little realm of 
Bohemia and art, we were all equally rich. But here money was 
playing its magic part, and the stage-carpenter’s daughter had been 
touched by the gold and was turned princess. 

Major Kilgore got up, said a formal “ Good-evening, Miss Baker, 
and to you, gentlemen,” with a deliberate look around at the latter 
phrase that comprehended all of us save Count Meagher, and then 
stalked out. 

The others remained, and life was fitfully restored through the 
efforts of Mr. Perkins, who did not appear to have understood, or at 
any rate to have noticed, the incident that had dampened so much 
ardor. Count Meagher explained again carefully to Mr. Forrest with 
a bland smile, and Rosie laughed and strutted up and down the room, 
and reaction came. When the prompt-bell sounded we all went to the 
front to see Madame make her grand entry, and she came on, a blaze 
of aristocratic beauty and pride. 

“ I wish he hadn’t done it,” said Mr. Forrest to me, reflectively. 

And so I wished, myself. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


29 


CHAPTER VI. 

A BLACK CAT AND A SINGING BIRD. 

There was no longer any reason to doubt that Major Kilgore 
heartily disliked Count Meagher. Indications of that fact had been 
constantly observable even in the usually stiff and formal demeanor 
of the major, who, self-contained and deliberate, seemed to determine 
every action and opinion upon the hypothesis that it was to be the 
most serious and important of his life. His dignity and gravity were 
never absent or in reserve. In his moments of friendliest conversation 
the only light that came to his countenance was the shadow of a smile 
that had all the melancholy of a tender apology. There are now and 
then men like Major Kilgore of whom we wonder what compensations 
life has for the deadly seriousness they exist in. The world smiles all 
round them, and cracks its jokes, and takes its fling at pleasure, while 
they are like mutes at a funeral. Even the thoughts they express and 
the comments they make are the hard stones of platitudes worn down 
with usage, and so well understood by the most thoughtless as not to 
be deemed needful of expression. But under every crust is its treasure. 
It may never be uncovered for you, but sometimes it will be thrown 
up for somebody else and become a surprise and a delight. It seemed 
to the gay and jovial young men of the Democratic Banner that Major 
Kilgore was an endless tale of woe. 

“ Do you think,” asked Mr. Burke one night, “ that he ever gets 
tired looking so wise and balancing the world in his mind ? Do you 
reckon, by gad, that he ever gives a good laugh when he gets home 
and goes to shave himself? I can see how he feels like he must look 
dead in earnest when he goes into Old Hundred’s bank parlor to feel 
the pulse of finance and when he wants to make people think he’s 
weighed down by the cares of having Congress and the currency ques- 
tion to bear with. That’s what he gets part of his salary for, of course. 
But how can he keep it up all the time ? I should think his face 
would get tired and he would tip a wink or let out a laugh to rest 
himself occasionally in the bosom of the Banner family.” 

But he never unbent. He went from statistics to theories, and 
from theories to statistics back again, without any diversion or relaxa- 
tion. In his old-fashioned way he would occasionally make a hand at 
poker or whist, carrying into the game the excited intensity of absorb- 
ing business. Indeed, the only change that came was at the rare in- 
tervals when passion kindled his eyes, shook his body, and drove 
pallor, like a frightened ghost, into the gloom of his set and fearless 
countenance. 

It must be placed to Mr. Forrest’s credit that the treasure of his 
character had been discovered to us, the stanch honor and correctness 
of his life. His character as a journalist — occupying as he did a 
most responsible and delicate position, where a suspicion would have 
discredited the journal — was unassailable, and while many took issue 
with his views, perhaps, nobody ever doubted their integrity. Is there 
any sort of — let us say, inconvenience in the temperament or mental 


30 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


qualities of your friends that character and reputation like this does 
not go a long way towards excusing? A man may be a tremendous 
bore about some hobby he has in training ; he may be heavy and 
stupid, tactless and full of resources to annoy and tire you ; but if you 
know that what he does and thinks is dictated by a conscience too 
true to stoop to palter with advantage or bend to expediency, you look 
up to him with a great deal of respect, because the line of instinctive 
moral vision goes over such defects. The average of human weakness 
was represented with great fidelity among the members of the staff of 
the Democratic Banner , and they recognized Major Kilgore’s strong 
character and unsullied reputation as a North Star by which a doubt- 
ful navigator might steer his way with full confidence. There was no 
joint in the armor of his mental and actual integrity, and he regarded 
metaphysics as the pickpocket of morals. 

“ But he lives two thousand years too late !” was Mr. Burke’s con- 
clusion. “ His part, by gad, is that of Death’s-Head at the Feast of 
Enjoyment, and that fashion’s gone out.” 

And the major’s dislike of Count Meagher was hurried along in 
its development. It was at this time, of all others, that Uncle Dick 
Baker gave a dinner in honor of Rosie’s success. Perhaps no expedi- 
tion that might be sent to explore the unmapped wildernesses of many 
mental operations would be able to discover how Uncle Dick lighted 
upon that idea. 

“ You gents that has been good and true to Rosie,” said Uncle Dick, 
speaking to the force in Mr. Forrest’s person, “come down a-Saturday 
night and we’ll have something to eat and a kag of cold beer, and I 
hope you’ll all feel that we appreciate what you’ve done for her.” 

From that germ the dinner grew during the week. The idea struck 
Mrs. Commyngs, First Old Woman of the Grand Theatre, as excellent 
to build upon. Mrs. Commyngs was elderly in years but young at 
heart, and carried her one hundred and sixty pounds of avoirdupois 
lightly. She it was who gave Rosie Baker valuable suggestions and 
looked after her in a manner not motherly, indeed, but stage-motherly. 
She had found the young girl out of school, with longings for the stage, 
educated far above her father, and yet not able to rise above him. It 
was plain that Rosie had inherited her mother’s talents, and so Mrs. 
Commyngs, sympathizing with her and in repayment of the old stage- 
carpenter’s long service at the theatre, had taught the girl certain tricks 
of that plastic trade, given first direction as it were to the budding 
genius and emotional impulse struggling for means of expression. 

Mrs. Commyngs not only approved of the dinner, but undertook 
to convert Rosie to the idea, as it appeared that she had somewhat 
opposed it. She made the discovery that Uncle Dick’s cottage would 
not do, while her rooms were just suited to it. 

“ Your cottage,” she explained to Uncle Dick, “is right on the 
street level, and you’ll have all the children for a mile around looking 
in the windows, — which you canH keep closed in May. Then you 
haven’t got a room big enough to seat us all. You must have Vader- 
berg, and the Irishman Meagher, who hangs around Rosie for nobody’s 
good in this world but his own, — and, take my word for it, you’ll find 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


31 


it oat yet. You must have Forrest’s friend that’s to pay for his play, 
— that outlandishly solemn old Kilgore, — besides all the boys and Me. 
It’ll take a room as big as this front parlor of mine. And I’m up 
here on the fourth floor, where nobody will hear us and the police 
can’t stop the row. That’s why I climb four flights of stairs twice a 
day, — to be where I’m nobody’s business and can do as I please.” 

" Now, I wanted partickler,” began Uncle Dick, in mild protest 
and in some difficulties of language, — " wanted partickler to have it 
at the house, because that’s where — where — we live, you know, and it 
would seem more like our doing it, there where me and Rosie lives. 
But if it really ain’t big enough ” 

" Of course it’s not big enough,” interrupted Mrs. Commyngs, 
flatly but kindly, thus effectually disposing of the doubt. " And, be- 
sides, if it was, it wouldn’t do. You wouldn’t care, and the boys 
wouldn’t care, but Rosie would not particularly like ’em to see that 
poor little plain cottage and how she lives. That’s why she doesn’t 
want the dinner.” 

" It was good enough for her mother to live in, and for her to be 
born in and live in and get her chance in,” said Uncle Dick, testily, 
and somewhat inconsequentially as to grammar, " and I be d — d if it 
ain’t good enough for anybody she’s good enough for.” He gave vent 
to the oath in emphasis, not in profanity, and in that perfectly innocent 
freedom of intercourse which children of dramatic communities observe. 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” answered Mrs. Commyngs, soothingly, and 
looking Uncle Dick squarely and serenely in the eyes, and, of course, 
looking him down by sheer force of moral determination. " It’s good 
enough for the President of the United States and all the sovereigns 
of Europe who happen to be men ; but it ain’t good enough, Dick 
Baker, for a young girl who has just made a big hit and is more or 
less of a fool about it, — as all young girls are. It ain’t good enough 
for her to give a state dinner in to new friends. I know' more about 
girls than you do; and, if you want Rosie to enjoy herself, have it 
here.” 

"They ain’t a one o’ them newspaper gents that wouldn’t ” 

began Uncle Dick. 

“I know that as well as you do,” snapped Mrs. Commyngs, 
shortly. “They’d be satisfied wherever Rosie was; but Rosie won’t 
be satisfied to have ’em there.” 

" Of course you know girls’ ways better’n I do,” said Uncle Dick. 

" I should say I do,” answered Mrs. Commyngs. "If you knew 
as much about ’em as I do, you wouldn’t have let that Irishman give 
Rosie that fur cloak, and you wouldn’t let him hang around her.” 

"He only lent her the cloak,” replied Uncle Dick, "until she was 
able to pay for it herself, and, bein’ a judge of actin’, he says she’ll 
get a heap more money next winter.” 

“Of course’’ she snorted, contemptuously. "Of course. And he 
gave it to her because he was interested in Art. As if that cold- 
blooded Irishman was ever interested in anything but Meagher ! 
Anybody to know you, Dick Baker, wouldn’t think you had spent 
thirty years around theatres.” 


32 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


“ Why, you went out walkin’ with ’em yourself !” illogically cried 
Uncle Dick in triumph over Mrs. Commyngs. 

“ Yes, I did,” promptly admitted that excellent lady. “ But I am 
not nineteen years old my next birthday, and nobody who knows me 
has any particular fears about me. I don’t need looking after. She 
does. Suppose I hadn’t gone? Would it give you any pleasure to 
think that she went out alone with Meagher? Let me tell you this : 
Rosie’s a pretty bird, and that Irishman’s a black cat.” 

“Look here, Commyngs,” said Uncle Dick, suddenly, “you don’t 
s’pose the count is hangin’ ’round Rosie for any meanness ? If I thought 
so ” 

“No, you wouldn’t do anything,” interrupted Mrs. Commyngs, 
quietly. “You couldn’t do anything, because you haven’t paid for 
that cloak, and you can’t send it back.” 

“ I k’n get seventy-five dollars and pay him right now,” was Uncle 
Dick’s quiet remark. 

“ Seventy-five dollars !” echoed Mrs. Commyngs, as her eye lighted 
up with an amused twinkle. And then she threw back her head and 
laughed aloud. “ Seventy-five dollars ! Why, you poor old simple- 
ton ! seventy-five dollars wouldn’t pay for the trimmings. That’s a 
two-hundred-dollar cloak. Did Meagher tell her it cost seventy-five 
dollars when he sent it ?” 

“ That’s the very price,” said Uncle Dick, humbly, beginning to 
have more suspicions aroused. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Commyngs, “he lied about it, and anybody in 
the wide world but a goose like you and a foolish girl like Rosie 
would have known better. That’s a two-hundred-dollar cloak, and 
Meagher is up to no good. I don’t believe he’s a count ; and I don’t 
like his ways.” 

“ But them newspaper gents likes him,” suggested Uncle Dick. 

“ Newspaper gents,” responded Mrs. Commyngs, “ can like whom 
they please; but I don’t like him, and I don’t believe there’s anything 
good in him. If you’ll take my advice, you will pay him for that 
cloak as soon as you can, and then ‘ fire him out.’ And in the mean 
time you’ll say nothing, but you’ll keep your eyes open. Rosie’s a 
good girl and a kind-hearted girl, but I’ve seen many of ’em regret 
taking things too easily when they’ve made their first hit. She hasn’t 
set the world afire yet, and it will take hard work and a cool head if 
she means to do it.’’ 

At this point it seemed clear to Mrs. Commyngs that she had no 
more to say ; but Uncle Dick lingered, his heart laden with a sudden 
tremendous doubt and suspicion. 

“ Look here, Commyngs,” he said, “ I ain’t no sort of father for a 
girl like Rosie to have. I haven’t got learn in’ 'like she has, and I 
don’t know what to do. Mebbe I don’t know how to look after her 
right. Couldn’t you ” 

“ Dick Baker,” said Mrs. Commyngs, solemnly, “ I couldn’t look 
after that girl more if I had four eyes instead of two. Ain’t I look- 
ing after her now, when I tell you what I have told you ?” 

“ I ain’t no sort of father for her,” repeated Uncle Dick, helplessly. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


33 


“ If I was, I’d knowed what to do about Mr. Meagher. There’s 
Major Kilgore, too ; he’s been haugin’ ’round. Mebbe I ought to stop 
’em both.” 

“What has he been doing?” asked Mrs. Commyngs, referring to 
Major Kilgore, with new interest. 

“ He’s walked home from the theatre with Rosie and me three or 
four times,” said Uncle Dick, “ and he’s come afternoons to see her, 
and twice’t a-Sunday night.” 

“ What does he have to say?” 

“He talks about Julia Dean sometimes. Mostly he talks about 
money and things — like — that.” 

“Has he been wanting to give Rosie money for art?” asked Mrs. 
Commyngs, with keen suspicion. 

“|Ko : he talks about how it’s made, and how there’s too much of 
it sometimes, and then it ain’t worth much, and it’s all along o’ Con- 
gress and the head devils at Washington.” 

“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Commyngs, in astonishment. 

“ I don’t exactly know,” answered Uncle Dick. “ Mebbe I don’t 
get it straight ; ’cause I never did get the hang of it.” 

And it was clear from the confusion of these two innocent and 
well-meaning people that Major Kilgore’s tremendous financial theories 
had miscarried in effect with Uncle Dick, as they had bewildered and 
confused the profounder minds of the talented local department that 
used to wonder what they all meant. 

“ Does Rosie like him ?” pursued Mrs. Commyngs, changing the 
line of examination, as if the lead she had was profitless. 

“ She runs from him,” answered Uncle Dick. “ And that leads me 
to think mebbe he don’t mean no good neither. Mebbe she sees better 
than I do.” 

“Runs from him!” echoed Mrs. Commyngs. “What do you 
mean ?” 

“ Sometimes she sends word she ain’t at home when he comes. 
Last Sunday night he come, and she asked me to tell him she was out. 
I told him, and he looked mad and said he’d set down and wait for her. 
I never knowed what to do, so I went to get him a drink of water. 
Rosie had heard it all through the door, and so she told me to be sur- 
prised when I seen her come in, and say nothing. Then she puts on 
her bonnet and gloves and climbs over the back fence, and soon she 
comes in at the front gate same as if she’d been down-town. He gets 
up and smiles, and she was as much surprised to see him as if it was 
a scene in a play.” 

Mrs. Commyngs laughed a loud and hearty laugh. 

“ There’s no danger from him , Baker,” she said. “ What does he 
talk to her about ?” 

“ Well, he said once’t that he had made twenty thousand dollars 
in a month on wheat. He said he knew just when to buy and when to 
let alone, he had studied it so hard. He could make as much money 
as he wanted or just as little as he wanted.” 

“ Did he say how much he wanted?” 

“ Said he never wanted much, because he was a single man. But 
Vol. XLIX. — 3 


34 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


he had thought if he had been a marry in’ man he could just let his 
wife have all the opportunities of the land and see and do the best that 
was goin’. I says to myself, ‘ He’s just lyin’ to hear how it sounds.’ 
Once’t he said to me I oughtn’t to let Rosie marry nobody in the profes- 
sion, but to marry her to somebody that would appreciate her and help 
her to be a great actress or a great society lady. That made me sour 
against him, — his lyin’ ; makin’ out as if he’s rich !” 

u Maybe he was lying, maybe not,” said Mrs. Commyngs. “ He’s 
rich enough to pay for that play that Forrest is going to bring out. 
But you needn’t worry about Major Kilgore. Can’t you see he wants 
to marry Rosie, and that’s what he is talking about his money for? 
He’s awful solemn, and he’s as tiresome as a ten-mile walk, but he is 
honest and means as well as you do.” 

“ You don’t think so!” cried Uncle Dick. 

“ I know so,” she answered. “ All the better for you and Rosie. 
As long as Major Kilgore is on the lookout, that makes it harder for 
that Irishman, who means no good to anybody but Meagher. Just 
don’t you talk to her about either of ’em, but let her manage it.” 

It was clear that there was at least one other person in the world 
who united with Major Kilgore in the dislike and distrust of that bland 
French gentleman, Count Meagher, and that Uncle Dick’s dinner in 
honor of his daughter’s friends would be given in Mrs. Commyngs’s 
plain but comfortable apartments. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE MORALS OF PIE. 

The dinner grew apace between the Monday of its announcement 
and the Saturday night of its fulfilment. Uncle Dick’s idea of “ some- 
thing to eat and a kag of cold beer” was actually realized ; but during 
the week Mr. Forrest and one or two other conspirators had conveyed 
to Mrs. Commyngs’s widowhood abode certain bottles of wine and 
other accompaniments of a modest feast, which th$t excellent and 
clear-headed lady introduced on the night of the dinner without ex- 
planation or apprisal to the host of the occasion. The three rooms 
into which Mrs. Commyngs had collected her household fortunes and 
sacrifices were in the fourth story of a semi-apartment-house, and con- 
sisted of a large front parlor, sitting-room, and work-room combined, 
a bedroom adjoining, and a small kitchen in an extreme rear and un- 
certain portion of the suite. The dinner was served in the principal 
room of these three, upon a table the legs of which felt, to sensitive 
knees underneath, to be shaped like saw-horses and- suggested boards 
laid across in a manner to testify to Uncle Dick’s own deft workman- 
ship. It was covered with immaculate cloth, that might have been 
damask or cotton for all the glorious company cared. 

Uncle Dick Baker, who habitually wore gingham shirts in summer 
and dingy-looking flannel ones in winter, was noticeably but heroically 
uneasy in a new linen shirt and a hard turn-over collar that embraced 
him as the iron collar of the Inquisition might have gripped the soft 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


35 


neck of some young and ingenuous martyr. It was so new to him, and 
he was so new to the collar, that his round, honest face seemed to be 
redder and get apoplectic from its efforts to surmount the unusual. It 
is wonderful how startlingly white an ordinary shirt will look upon a 
man not accustomed to its wearing. He was full of good humor and 
uneasiness, and put all the command of the entertainment upon Mrs. 
Commyngs, and that amiable woman accepted the responsibility in a 
way that at once put Uncle Dick at his ease. In lieu of enough ladies 
to assign each to a gentleman, she took one end of the table and placed 
Rosie at the other. 

“ We’ll both of us,” she cried out in explanation to Rosie, “ have 
a whole row of men to talk to, or we can divide ’em and have half of 
two rows apiece, just as comes best.” 

Mr. Forrest had a place at Rosie’s right hand, facing a lithograph 
on the wall of Edwin Forrest in his great character of “ Spartacus, the 
Gladiator,” and which had written under it, in bold and uncertain 
autographic strokes, the legend “From yours most faithfully, E. For- 
rest.” Uncle Dick was on Rosie’s left. Major Kilgore sat on the 
right hand of Mrs. Commyngs, and had opposite Mr. Burke, whom 
Mrs. Commyngs declared to be “the most hardened and the most de- 
lightful wretch of his profession,” because he regaled her with countless 
horrors of his reportorial experience, attractive to actors who live by 
studies of the characteristic and grotesque as much as by observation 
of the conventional. Mr. Vaderberg, stage manager of the Grand 
Theatre, was between Major Kilgore and Mr. Perkins, and Count 
Meagher and the City Editor of the Banner filled in the stretch of 
hospitable board that separated Mr. Burke from Mr. Forrest. 

I take it that what is eaten and drunk at a feast like this is not of 
the slightest consequence to anybody, — unless it should be one of the 
feasters who next day, perhaps, might be peering into the sources of 
his indigestion. But there was no fear of indigestion lowering over 
the healthy stomachs gathered &t that board. And there was no state 
and no style. What if there were a plate of toothsome meat, — say 
lamb, with the grace of its first spring making the sacrifice innocent 
and beautiful ; a chicken, young and tender ; some early vegetables ; a 
salad ; even an ice ; and, to crown all, a delightful pie f And in and 
out between these plain and honest dishes, your own choice, ladies and 
gentlemen, of beer, fresh from Uncle Dick’s “ kag” (the foaming 
glasses of which he drew himself with urgent readiness and hospi- 
tality), or of wine, — the appearance of which, ordered by Mrs. Com- 
myngs, fairly bewildered Uncle Dick. 

It was the “ kag” of beer that made the pie possible. Uncle Dick 
was determined upon the beer ; “ because,” he had explained, “ them 
gents has made many a lunch on it and sandwiches or milk and pie.” 
And thereupon Mrs. Commyngs ordered the pie, a splendid deep and 
roomy object, constructed of apples that filled it to bursting, and which 
had a certain familiar and wholesome appearance, as of an old friend 
at table. And when the pie came on, just ahead of the ice, it was 
received with a round of applause, in the midst of which Mr. Burke, 
rising to his feet, beer-glass in hand, thus apostrophized : 


36 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


“ Hail ! hail to the great brain-food, tired intellect’s sweet mid- 
night restorer! If we,” he demanded, appealing to his colleagues, 
“ were on some desert isle, painfully starving upon such scanty shell- 
fish as could be laboriously picked up on the naked beach, and in the 
restless hours of sleepless night some beautiful vision should appear 
and demand, ( With what to eat shall I serve you?’ what would we 
answer ?” 

“Pie!” answered Mr. Perkins, in a tone of prompt and solemn 
enthusiasm. 

“ Ay, pie !” echoed Mr. Burke. “ By winter, the luscious, luxu- 
rious, and aromatic mince, hot and with buttermilk; by summer, the 
honest and innocent apple, simple, fat, light, and pleasing. All hail, 
thou handmaid of the journalist’s nightly and exhaustive toil !” 

This broke up the ice entirely, and was received with an outburst 
of applause, the tapping of knives upon glasses, the clapping of hands, 
and Mr. Perkins even gave the shrill whistle of the gallery god at the 
Grand Theatre. 

Mrs. Commyngs’s prophetic voice rose above the din, crying aloud 
to Uncle Dick, as in a wilderness of sound, “ I told you, Baker, that 
if they wanted beer they would have pie !” 

“ Then it is to you, noble and thoughtful woman,” cried Mr. Burke, 
“that we owe this sweet boon of pie? Next time there is a gentleman 
hanged for some high crime in this good city, I will use my best offices 
with the sheriff that you may witness the scene and study how to die 
as becomes an artiste.” 

“ Get out, you monster !” protested Mrs. Commyngs, with a comic 
pretence of horror. “ Keep your horrors to sup on yourself.” 

“ Do you know,” began Mr. Forrest, himself taking up the vein 
of badinage, “ that pie is not the deadly enemy to sweet digestion and 
good health which affected fashion and timid scientific ignorance pre- 
tend it is ? I have, somewhere on the tablets of my busy memory, 
notes of an interview with the famous Dr. Mackenzie upon the cata- 
plasmic effects of pie upon the human stomach and its therapeutic effects 
upon the system. What I may take the liberty of calling the ‘ meat’ 
of pie is good in itself ; but ignorance and pedantry have assumed to 
find in the top crust and in the lower stratum of softened dough-bake, 
between which is contained the pie proper, the elements of grave 
dangers to health. But Dr. Mackenzie — great and glorious defender 
of the old honest faith of the pie of our childhood — maintains that the 
crust and the bake are as poultices, tender and soothing to the sensitive 
inner machinery, solacing to the mind and steadying to the nerves and 
brain.” 

“ Give it a column, Forrest,” cried the City Editor. “ The idea is 
worth it.” 

“And I can give you an anecdote for the column, Mr. Forrest,” 
said Count Meagher, who had spoken but little, and who never spoke, 
usually, in vain. He had been more or less preoccupied, as usual, but 
he had evidently waked up. And as he began to speak he was all 
interest and suavity. “ You might quote it as an anecdote of the most 
expensive pie ever baked. I do not know, of course, if it would be 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


37 


suitable ; but we have read in history of the cost of Cleopatra’s drink 
and Lucullus’s supper.” 

“Good!” cried Burke. “ Let us have it.” 

“ Well,” said Count Meagher, beginning in the story-telliag fashion, 
u a certain gentleman of fortune, and to fame known, was one day pro- 
posing a dinner to a party of his friends. Of , these, three were ladies 
and two gentlemen, and it so happened that the ladies were artistes, like 
the ladies we have the honor of attending this evening.” And the 
count made a sweeping courtesy from one end of the table to the other, 
first comprehending Rosie and then Mrs. Commyngs. “ Indeed, one of 
them was, like our young friend the charming Miss Baker, upon the 
very threshold of a career that was to prove splendid and successful.” 

“ It’s one of the count’s Parisian tales, Forrest,” said Perkins, across 
the table. “ And it’ll be a good one.” 

“ But this young beginner,” continued the count, “ was just from 
the provinces, with nothing but her beauty and her talent, and she was 
getting along slowly, because, the manager said, her talent ran in pro- 
vincial directions, while that which he wanted was talent distinctively 
Parisian.” 

“ Ah-h !” cried Perkins ; “ what did I tell you ?” 

“Will you please stop Mr. Perkins’s mouth with beer, Baker?” 
called out Mrs. Commyngs from the other end of the table. 

“ She was slow,” resumed the count, “ to take up the fashionable idea 
of Paris, and was sportively called ‘ the Pansy of Gascony’ by the other 
artistes of the company. Well, Prince Fortunatus, when he gave a 
dinner, always gave an odd one, and so, this time, he proposed that his 
friends should each name a favorite dish and he would add one. The 
six courses were to compose the dinner. One of them named a rare 
soup, another an Algerian entree , the third a grouse from Scotland, to 
give body to the feast, the fourth an Italian fish ; but the Pansy of 
Gascony declared she had no favorite dish which she cared to name, 
and that she would be satisfied with what the host would be pleased to 
order. The due insisted that she choose something, either simple or 
impossible, — bearing in mind, nevertheless, that the days of Bagdad 
were past. And all the others gathered round and pressed her until she 
finally blurted out, — 

“ ‘ Ah, well, monsieur, I choose simply a pie.’ 

“ ‘ A pie !’ 

“ The little group fairly screamed with laughter. ‘ A pie, a pie,’ 
they cried, ‘for the Gascon Pansy.’ Who had ever heard of a pie in 
Paris ? 

“ ‘ And so you shall have one, mademoiselle,’ said the due. He 
alone was quite grave and considerate. ‘ And it shall be a beautiful 
pie.’ While the poor girl, abashed and confused, murmured, ‘ What 
would you expect a country-girl to know of fine dishes, monsieur?’ 

“ On the evening of the dinner the guests were all assembled, and 
the menu , so oddly chosen, was beautifully served. At last the due 
turned to his man and said, ‘ Now, Antoine, fetch Mademoiselle’s pie, 
and set it in the centre of the table, where its beauty can be seen.’ The 
pie, on a gold plate, wreathed in twined pansies, was brought in. 


38 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


Within the wreath the frothing surface of the meringue was as delicate 
and white as foam upon the crest of waves. ‘You see, my friends/ 
said the due, regarding the confection critically, ‘ even a pie may be 
made beautiful if you will. Confections are, however, like some women, 
not always good because they are fair to look on. But who loves takes, 
and who takes pays. Antoine, bring me the pie.’ And, taking up a 
silver knife, he carefully calculated the lines for sharing it. ‘ Let me 
see, six pieces/ ‘ None for me, monsieur/ cried Mile. Alixe, and ‘ None 
for me/ said Mile. Flora ; ‘ I will give all mine to the pretty Pansy 
who loves pie/ The two male guests shrugged their shoulders. ‘ Very 
well/ said the due, with a good-natured smile : ‘ I will take half, if 
Mademoiselle will share with me only/ So saying, he divided the pie, 
and, lifting half upon a plate which he kept, sent the other half in its 
garland to Mademoiselle, with his compliments. 

“ ‘ This/ he said, ‘ is the famous lime pie of Gascony, which Made- 
moiselle will like, and which she will do well to eat carefully. The 
meringue should be removed, because it is purely ornamental, being too 
rich and insipid for good digestion. It is the limes only that should 
be eaten/ The due pushed the meringue aside as he spoke, and Made- 
moiselle, taking her fork daintily, began to push the meringue from 
the surface of her half. And, lo ! it clung together like finest eider- 
down lint, and as she lifted it there sparkled right under her bright 
eyes an enamelled pansy bearing in the centre a white diamond that 
would make you blink. She trembled with delight and astonishment. 
‘ Push it all off/ said the due ; and as Mademoiselle pushed again 
another pansy and another diamond were discovered. ‘ Those/ said 
the due, carelessly, ‘ are flowers of Gascony, mademoiselle, and they 
grow only for daughters of the. South and of genius. You must put 
them in your ears as good omens of that fact/ And, trembling, she 
hung the drops in her ears. ‘ And now/ said the due, ‘ pray eat the 
pie beneath, as I do mine ; for the limes of Gascony are always good/ 
And, whipping off the false meringue, there was a simple pie beneath. 
‘ Pie/ he added, ‘ may be made as fine as other confections/ And that 
certainly was ; for it cost him ten thousand francs.” 

“ And the due,” cried Mr. Forrest, “ was the Duke of Monte- 
Christo, the Pansy of Gascony was the enchanted princess of the 
Theatre Comique, and the false guests were malicious relatives who 
were turned into rats and devoured by Antoine, who was changed into 
a ferocious black cat with two mouths for that very purpose !” 

But there was loud applause, and Perkins cried out, “ I say, For- 
rest, let me write up the pie article. That’s a good story ; and I’ll 
give your scientific friend a fair show for his theory.” 

“ No,” answered Mr. Forrest, with affected severity. “ Because, 
Perkins, you would forget the moral of the story, and that is, that 
pies stuffed with diamonds are invariably bad for the digestion of 
young ladies.” 

“ Bravo ! . . . bravo !” cried Major Kilgore, from his seat next 
Mrs. Commyngs. It was the first time he had been heard. “ Bravo !” 
he cried again. “ That was a very good point ... to make, indeed, 
Mr. Forrest. . . . Quite good, indeed. . . . Bravo ! bravo !” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


39 


“ Young ladies who get diamonds from old dukes,” continued Mr. 
Forrest, “ may not die of the pies, but they inevitably do of the 
diamonds. That’s a scientific and social phenomenon.” 

“ Bravo ! . . . bravo !” again cried Major Kilgore, looking fixedly 
at Count Meagher. That gentleman in turn gave a look at Rosie and 
shrugged his shoulders. Rosie laughed lightly, looked down the table, 
and encountered the eyes of Mrs. Commyngs fixed curiously upon her. 
Whereupon she, too, shrugged her pretty shoulders, and played with 
her knife attentively. 

“ The moral of a story . . .,” began Major Kilgore, in earnest igno- 
rance of Forrest’s innocent burlesque of severity, “ is the very heart of 
it. . . . It does you honor, Mr. Forrest, to . . . point that out ” 

“ Oh, we cannot too much insist upon morals,” persisted Mr. For- 
rest, in answering ignorance of the effect that he was making. Indeed, 
none of us knew then what we were afterwards to know. 

“ Gentlemen,” interrupted Count Meagher, in a bland voice that 
masked irony and contempt, “ I have given you my true story : moral- 
ize upon it as you will.” 

Major Kilgore fixed his keen eyes upon the count, who did not 
look the glance back. 

“ We don’t want any moralizing,” cried Perkins. 

“Oh, of course; no moralizing at this moment,” said Mr. Forrest, 
lightly walking over the volcano that he did not dream was beneath 
what he had said. “We will keep moralizing for the public mission 
of the press. We are here now for a more delightful purpose, the 
guests of our good friends, and I propose that we drink the health of 
Uncle Dick Baker, who is a good stage-carpenter, a good father, a good 
man, and a good friend.” 

Mr. Forrest rose to his feet, held up his wineglass as a signal for 
the others to rise, and all, looking at Uncle Dick, solemnly drank the 
toast. Then Perkins, who had a drop more wine than was necessary, 
insisted upon having a speech from Uncle Dick, — insisted with so much 
heat that the least embarrassing way out of the predicament was for 
all the others to join in the demand with cheerful good humor. 

And so Uncle Dick rose awkwardly and hesitatingly to his feet. 
In that agonizing moment the half of him that was visible above the 
table appeared to be all starchy shirt front and collar and a face that 
was full of the emotion of never having before been called upon to 
make a speech to the silence that greeted him. 

“ I thank you kindly, gents,” he began, “ for the — drinking to my 
health. I can’t make no speech, but I can say that I hope mv health 
will stay as good as it has been for thirty year. In that time I never 
lost a day from the theatre yet account o’ sickness.” 

Uncle Dick had started out confusedly, but he was getting along 
better than he expected, and the applause that came in at this moment, 
led by Perkins, strengthened him. Rosie was painfully abashed, but 
all the good Company around that honest table was paying earnest 
attention to what he had to say, and so masked her agony. All save 
Perkins, who gave vent to a horse-laiigh, and whose toe was instantly 
crushed under the table by Mr. Burke. 


40 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“ Look out for my toe, will you ?” cried Perkins. 

“ I beg pardon,” said Mr. Burke, curtly, without looking at him, 
and then, putting his hand admonishingly on Perkins’s arm, muttered 
savagely to him, “ Don't interrupt .” Upon this Perkins relapsed into 
a respectful quiet that he did not fully understand, and he regarded 
the serious faces with curiosity. 

“ No, gents,” continued Uncle Dick, “ I haven’t lost a day in 
thirty year, and my health is now first-rate. When I was turned 
twenty-five I was touched with rheumatiz, and was skeered up about 
it, but old Dr. Saffel, the Indian Doctor, give me some liniment to rub 
with, and from that day to this I ain’t never had a ache or pain o’ 
body. I ain’t as spry as I was, but I’m hearty and manage to do my 
work, I hope satisfactory to Mr. Fitzgerald, who, I may say, is a good 
boss. To Mr. Forrest I say my hearty thanks for sayin’ I’m a 
good stage-carpenter. I try to do my best. And Rosie tries to do her 
best.” Here Uncle Dick began to wander. “ Her health is good too. 
. . . She takes after me in that. . . . Me and Rosie’s always hearty 
and healthy. . . . And I thank you, gents, for drinkin’ my health, 
and I’ll try and keep it hearty as long as I can.” 

And he suddenly sat down, entirely out of breath with his intel- 
lectual exertion, and amidst a round of applause as “ hearty” as his 
health. We all drank to him again, and he drew another foaming 
glass of beer for himself from the “ kag” and nervously drank it all 
at one draught. 

There was a general din after this, and Mrs. Commyngs announced 
that if the gentlemen had cigars they were welcome to light them. 
“ This is Liberty Hall,” she said. “ Rosie and I won’t be the worse 
for all the cloud you can blow, and I know you will all be the happier 
for it.” And the cigars turned up from various pockets, and when 
they were lighted Uncle Dick rose, cleared his throat, and, looking 
earnestly at Mr. Forrest, utterly ignoring the presence of the ladies, 
said, — 

“ Gents, I drink to Mr. Forrest’s good health, and I hope you’ll 
all join.” 

And we all joined, with a clattering call on that gentleman for a 
speech, which he made with perfect good humor, paying delightful 
compliments to Rosie and Mrs. Commyngs, to Uncle Dick and Vader- 
berg and the theatrical profession generally. He quickly and deftly 
wiped out the remembrance of Uncle Dick’s own homely response, 
and restored laughter and high good nature by sallies right and left. 
In conclusion he called upon Mr. Perkins for a song, and Mr. Perkins 
completed the general delight by singing “ Believe me, if All those 
Endearing Young Charms,” in that marvellously sweet tenor, and was 
then compelled to give “ Sally in our Alley” “for good measure.” 

Then everybody’s tongue was loose and ready. Mr. Vaderberg 
spoke for “ The Stage, the Mirror of Nature,” and demonstrated that 
a very good actor may frequently speak other people’s lines much 
better than his own. Mr. Burke toasted Mrs. Commyngs as the 
“only young girl he had ever known to make a splendid first old 
woman on the stage,” and fled for his life around the table, pursued 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


41 


by that active lady. Perkins called on Count Meagher, “ the only real 
specimen of the nobility we have, and here’s hoping for more of them.” 
But the count begged off from a speech, and sang a song in his rich 
barytone, to the delight of all, save Major Kilgore, who eyed him 
coldly and never made a motion of applause. Then Perkins, embold- 
ened by the success of this, proposed a speech from Mr. Burke ; but 
that wily person said it was no time for serious speeches, and the one 
he had prepared was an hour long. But he thought that as songs were 
in order they should have one from the Queen of Song, — Miss Rosie. 

The idea was received with great applause, and Rosie, who had 
quickly recovered from the abashment she exhibited during Uncle 
Dick’s speech and who had laughed merrily over the humor that went 
around, was nothing loath. 

“ Clear the table !” commanded Mrs. Commyngs ; and instantly 
the deserted board was tenderly moved against the wall, and, sitting 
down to her cottage piano, which she thumped with an honest, old- 
fashioned vigor, she struck the air of an Irish song well known to 
the professional minstrelsy of that day. And Rosie, all vivacity and 
coquettishness, sang away in her lovely, sympathetic voice the story 
of the verse, applying it on the spur of the moment as she went : On 
the stage she was Ma’m’selle De Harte, But her right name was 
Bridget McCarthy : She’d 'go home at nights and from matinees 
Wid baskets of flowers and little bookays; For she was his only 
daughter, And there [pointing at Uncle Dick, who looked on proudly] 
was the father that taught her To wear spangled clothes And go 
round on her toes, — The Pride of the Bally was Biddy. 

Then, when the dance-symphony came ! She just grasped her 
skirts, lifted them to her boot-tops, showing a bit of stocking, perhaps, 
— a glimpse that made the fleshings of the stage, beautiful though 
they were, seem nothing, — and gave an Irish fling that was worth the 
whole price of admission, and Mr. Burke so maintained. It was an 
Irish fling at heart, but there were also an occasional hint of the “ Es- 
sence of Old Virginny” and suggestions of the ballet, — a medley and 
a parody of all the conventional dances of the variety stage. 

There were other verses describing the triumphs and delight of 
Miss McCarthy who was the Pride of the Bally, and more dancing, 
during which Rosie gathered vivacity and enthusiasm as she went, 
nerved by the applause as if it came from a crowded theatre. Major 
Kilgore, alone, looked on with chilling gravity. Even the bit of stock- 
ing that invariably came into view in the dance had no charm for him, 
but seemed to chill him more. The others were prodigal of applause 
and appreciation. 

So vigorously she danced that, as she was about ending, the long 
fair hair came tumbling over her eyes, released from its restraints. 
She suddenly stopped, and bowed her head as if to gather the straying 
masses and throw them back ; but in the midst of the applause she 
looked up with the uncanny gaze of an Ophelia, plucking and playing 
with her hair. 

“ They say the owl was a baker’s daughter,” began this extem- 
poraneous Ophelia, with a furtive glance that had no destination, but 


42 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


which seemed to light upon Count Meagher and Mr. Forrest. u Lord ! 
we know what we are,” she continued, her eyes roaming in a wilder- 
ness of unrest, and with a distraught and foolish smile, “ but we know 
not what we may be. God be at your table !” 

And here Mrs. Commyngs took up the cue and fed her with the 
fence and play of as mad a scene as ever made audience shiver and 
hold its breath with pain and delight. But she did not close without 
distorting the scene into exaggeration and burlesque, and maintained 
at the very last that The Pride of the Bally was Biddy. 

During this semi-tragic assumption Major Kilgore had been rapt in 
admiration. He watched Rosie with an eye that kindled more and more 
as the scene progressed ; and when it closed he rose to his feet in great 
animation, paying no attention to the caricaturing lines at the conclu- 
sion. When he was most animated it was characteristic that his face 
showed most determination and his utterance most deliberation. Now 
his eyes were aflame with delight, and when he had solemnly said, 
“ Ladies and Gentlemen,” there was perfect silence. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “you are all . . . younger 
than I, . . . though some of you . . . may have had more experience 
of what ... we have seen . . . this evening. . . . Ophelia says very 
well . . . that we know not what we may be, . . . which applies, 
with singular force, to . . . the talents which we have seen exhibited. 
... I venture to make a prediction, . . . that we will all live . . . 
to see the day when we can look back upon . . . this night . . . and 
remember that we saw ... in this hospitable apartment . . . the first 
exhibition of a . . . tragic and emotional genius that will ... be a 
light to the stage and a . . . glory to the young lady who so eloquently 
. . . gives testimony of its possession. ... We have not yet drunk 
the . . . health and success of this . . . most gifted and charming 
young lady. I now . . . venture to propose the sentiment, . . . 
which I am sure most of us will sincerely [and here he gave a look at 
Count Meagher that was sinister and full of challenge] and gladly 
subscribe to. I congratulate you, Miss Baker [and here the major 
crossed over and took Rosie’s hand solemnly, while she looked very 
foolish under the ceremony and Perkins put up his hand and made 
a sign of delight], . . . upon the evidence you have demonstrated . . . 
of tragic genius. [At this Perkins fell back in his chair in a heap, 
and Mr. Burke scowled darkly at him.] . . . You have delighted as 
you have astonished us. The beautiful Julia Dean ... in the hey- 
day and the flush of her genius . . . when I saw her . . . was not 
better amid the inspiration of . . . the play itself.” 

The major paused here, and we all applauded him. He still held 
Rosie’s hand, and she was almost angrily embarrassed because of his 
intense seriousness and because she felt instinctively that all of us 
understood the situation and were equally restrained because of the 
major’s gravity and earnestness. He tried to induce her to rise, and 
she pulled back with a look of angry vexation. He made another 
attempt, and sulkily she rose with a little smile of contempt. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” he began again, “ I shall take the liberty 
... of making ... a suggestion. You all know that . . . Mr. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


43 


Forrest ... is about to produce his . . . admirable and stirring 
tragedy ... of ^ Caligula/ Why should not Miss Baker . . . play 
the part of Lollia f ... So I propose more than ... a toast to Miss 
Baker. ... I propose the health of the . . . tragic actress, . . . 
and the part she will have . . . for her genius . . . and the success 
of my friend Mr. Forrest’s fine tragedy !” 

He led her, still sulky, to the table, around which we all gathered 
with some vague feeling that a damper had been flung over the scene. 
But Mr. Burke called out heartily, “ Miss Baker, and the tragedy of 
Caligula !” and we solemnly drank the toast. 

“ What do you think ... of that, madame ?” asked Major Kil- 
gore of Mrs. Commyngs. 

“ Put Rosie in sock and buskin ?” she retorted. “ Well, I think 
you’ll spoil a good soubrette. What do you think, Mr. Forrest? — 
you are a dramatic critic.” Mr. Forrest hesitated, and, seeing that he 
was embarrassed, she turned to Count Meagher. 

“ What do you think, Mr. Meagher?” 

“ I agree perfectly with you, Mrs. Commyngs,” said the count, in 
his blandest tone. 

“ And why, sir?” demanded Major Kilgore, instantly fixing him 
with his eyes. “ If a good . . . soubrette . . . were spoiled . . . 
and ... a great actress made ! ... Is that any loss ?” 

He took a step nearer to Count Meagher, and transferred, by the 
action, the whole controversy to that personal field. The count gave 
him an intent and curious glance, and answered, — 

“ I am not competent to discuss that question fully, Major Kilgore. 
But my impressions entirely accord with those of Mrs. Commyngs, 
who asked me for them.” 

“ Certainly, . . . certainly,” said the major, as this clever shifting 
back of the point was effected. “ You were right, . . . sir, to answer 
Mrs. Commyngs,” to whom he made a bow. And then he bit his lip 
and glared at Count Meagher. Rosie was still sulky, and Perkins in 
vain called for a song. He tried to give one himself. In the midst 
of it, Major Kilgore took a ceremonious leave, and we broke up the 
party. 

And Mr. Forrest and the City Editor wondered to each other as 
they went home if Major Kilgore were not under some subtle influence 
of Rosie’s charm. As why should he not be ? 


CHAPTER VIII. 

PREPARING THE TRAGEDY. 

When the early flowers were about to bloom, the season of the 
Grand Theatre closed, and “ The Silver Bell” received its last repre- 
sentation to an audience that filled the house and thundered applause 
at the beautiful Elvira , who revelled in her own charm that night, and, 
under the inspiration of the moment, fairly outshone herself. Then 
came the long summer, during which preparations for the production 
of “ Caligula” were to be made. Major Kilgore called on Fitzgerald, 


44 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


the manager, in company with Mr. Forrest, and it was agreed that the 
tragedy should be played at the opening of the season, Major Kilgore 
paying all the expenses of the production. Costumes had to be de- 
signed, the period artistically studied, and the details arranged for the 
representation upon a scale of grandeur that was to eclipse all previous 
productions at the Grand. The only cloud that darkened this fair hori- 
zon to the young author was the persistence with which Major Kilgore 
assumed that Rosie Baker was to be the Lollia. Upon this point the 
major would expatiate to the little group of friends who were inter- 
ested in the outcome. It took possession of him as a mania, and he 
profoundly argued with all of us that a career of tragedy was far 
preferable to the popularity, however brilliant, of a mere comedienne 
and singer. He could not understand why Rosie avoided him, and he 
complained innocently that she seemed always away from home when 
he called. He attributed this to youth and frivolity, and was afraid 
she was not sufficiently studious. She ought to be married and have 
leisure and means to pursue her studies properly. Were not all the 
great actresses of the English stage married women, — Mrs. Oldfield, 
Mrs. Woffington, Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Drake, and Julia Dean? He 
argued the idea out with editorial force and elaboration to Mrs. 
Commyngs. 

“ I knew none of them,” answered Mrs. Commyngs, in her mild 
and frank way, “ but poor Julia Dean, and Fm sure marriage did her 
no good.” 

“ Because,” said the major, “ she made a poor match, madame, . . . 
with a young gentleman who did not value her high qualities, but who 
was fascinated by her mere personal charms. ... If she had made a 
marriage ... of intellect, madame, with ... an older and more 
settled man, . . . who could have watched over . . . and assisted in 
the development of her . . . genius, she might ” 

“ Yes, that’s what they all say,” interrupted Mrs. Commyngs. 
“ All of ’em think that the mistake was not in marrying somebody 
else. I’ve noticed that but few of them were rightly mated.” 

This offended the major somewhat. And Mrs. Commyngs said he 
was crazy about Rosie, as all men seemed to be who came under the 
influence of young actresses. 

“ They get the paint and the gas-light in their eyes once,” she 
declared, “ and they never see anything else. And the older the men 
the [crazier they get. There’s no fool in the wide world like an old 
fool ; and, measured by that, I think your friend Major Kilgore must 
be at least a hundred.” 

The tragedy of “ Caligula” was read and re-read by the unhappy 
author engaged in its preparation, — read with Mr. Vaderberg, the 
stage manager, and with Mr. Vaderberg and Mrs. Commyngs. For 
weeks Mr. Forrest spent anxious hours daily with these arbiters of his 
dramatic destiny, protesting against the cutting out of speeches of mag- 
nificent length which Mr. Vaderberg swore no audience would listen 
to in patience, and which Mr. Forrest bitterly contended were so neces- 
sary to the development of character that to cut them out would be to 
emasculate and mutilate the tragedy beyond recognition. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


45 


“ Character is good enough in its way,” said Mr. Vaderberg, “ but 
we must get the play acted before midnight. Now, if the people” 
(meaning the ladies and gentlemen of the Grand Theatre) “ undertake 
to speak the lines as you have written them, — all, — you will have 
your audience to break fast. You want action as much as character : 
between action and character in the drama, why, character must always 
be sacrificed.” 

Whereat Mr. Forrest would heave a deep sigh and go again over 
the speeches, which he knew by heart and which were as dear to him 
as his own being. 

“ Do you think there is action enough in the play,” he would ask, 
“ to make it go ?” 

“ I have been an actor,” said Mr. Vaderberg, very warily indeed, 
“ for thirty years, and stage manager for fifteen. I have put on many 
a play, but I never saw one yet that anybody could call a go until 
after it had begun to move. I’ve seen plays that I thought would set 
the world afire damned so dead in one night that the author wished 
he were dead with his work ; I have seen plays that I scorned to put 
on make a whole season’s hit. So I have quit the business of prophe- 
sying.” 

Whereat Mr. Forrest heaved another sigh after the first one, and 
turned to Mrs. Commyngs for relief. 

“ I don’t know a thing about plays,” said that frank lady. “ I 
don’t know anything but ‘ business.’ If you have a gentleman to be 
murdered, a lady to be smothered, a ‘ situation’ worked up, or a tableau 
arranged, I know how to find my place after Vaderberg has told me 
where it is ; but I don’t know anything about plays, — not even about 
those I’ve acted in all my life. Vaderberg knows all about ’em, my 
dear, or he ought to. That’s what he’s paid for ; and I would advise 
you to trust him. Besides, if it should fail, — and of course it won’t, 
— you can say Vaderberg ruined it.” 

And Mr. Forrest heaved a last sad sigh, and asked for time to cut 
out the speeches. 

“ You and Vaderberg do the carpenter- work and get it into shape,” 
continued Mrs. Commyngs. “ I advise you to let Vaderberg do the 
cutting : he knows more about it than you do, or I, or anybody else 
here. I’ve got to talk to Rosie about Lollia; though I must say I 
think it nonsense to put her in the part. She’s no more intended for 
tragedy than I am, and the nearest I’ve ever come to it was play- 
ing Juliet’s Nurse. You had better cast Miss Johnstone for Lollia. 
Vaderberg will tell you so.” 

And Vaderberg did tell him so, and Mr. Forrest related these 
particulars to me with his heart bowed down by double weight of woe. 
He knew Vaderberg was wrong about cutting out the magnificent 
speeches that were long enough for political harangues, and he believed 
Vaderberg was right about Miss Baker’s unfitness for the part of 
Lollia. 

“ She is nothing in the world,” Mrs. Commyngs had said and Mr. 
Forrest reported, “ but a soubrette. You boys on the Banner have 
simply gone stark, staring mad over her, and I don’t blame you for 


46 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


it, because she has got talent in her toes and in her head until she tin- 
gles with it. But, my dear, it’s soubrette talent, and, as another 
dramatic author has said before you, you cannot make a silk purse out 
of a sow’s ear. I take that to mean that you can’t make a Lady Mac- 
beth out of a singing and dancing chambermaid. It won’t do Rosie 
any good in the profession to try it and fail, and it won’t do your play 
any good, will it?” 

“ Now,” sighed Mr. Forrest to his only confidant, the City Editor, 
“ what, in the name of the Evangels, shall I do ? Everybody else 
seems to think as Vaderberg and Mrs. Commyngs think; but Major 
Kilgore has set his heart on having Rosie Baker play this part, and, 
as he is going to stand the expense of mounting the play, what can 
Ido?” 

“Do nothing at all at present, Forrest,” suggested his patient 
friend, “ but get your play in shape and let the other troubles wait. 
You have months of time yet.” 

And, as Mr. Forrest could do nothing on that point, he set him- 
self to doing everything else with heroic application. He cut out 
speeches, and he read aloud to his patient friend the parts he cut out 
and the parts he left in, and then wondered if he had not made the 
mistake of cutting out the wrong parts, and wanted an opinion on 
that subject. And his patient friend, having no opinion of any value 
whatsoever on the subject, managed with faithful skill to give an 
elaborate opinion that left Mr. Forrest in his original miserable frame 
of mind. 

There was something pathetic in the change that came over him. 
The haughtiness and high indifference were exchanged for irritation 
and a certain sensitiveness that made the young men of the Banner 
staff shun him at times. Now that he was face to face with the pub- 
lic with his own production, that must stand or fall before somebody 
else’s judgment, his famous dogmatism, his haughty and decided 
opinions, began to falter and resolve themselves into doubts that kept 
him in torture and a condition that, for Mr. Forrest, was akin to 
humility. 

While he was thus absorbed in his labors, life, for the others, went 
on as usual, with only himself left out of the count. Every moment 
of spare time he gave to the study of his subject. Drawings and 
descriptions had to be made of costumes, scenery, and “ properties,” in 
order that, when the time came for the real work of preparation, the 
costumers and mechanics should suffer no delay. And thus he dropped 
out of those incidental diversions with which the Banner staff were 
wont to render picturesque and blithesome the severe demands of pro- 
fessional employment. And the City Editor saved him from many a 
duty in order to allow him more opportunity for his labors in behalf 
of art and the advancement of his own honorable ambition. And his 
absence from the diversions was in itself a mighty tribute to the 
earnestness and sincerity of his ambition. 

For with the early spring came, with the flowers and the other 
sweets and joys of budding nature, the round of open-air sports and 
excitements at which the Dramatic Critic, at all times and by all the 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


47 


immutable rules of journalistic ethics, has a front seat, with no work 
to do, — the seat being provided by his stanch friend the Sporting 
Editor ; just as during the long winter the Dramatic Critic has pro- 
vided for the Sporting Editor all the courtesies, rights, privileges, and 
immunities current in the realm of art. 

First, there came the spring meeting of the Jockey Club ; and that 
was the year Foretop won the cup, beating Alaric, the favorite, — and 
a Bonnie Scotland invincible, — half a length, and landing Count 
Meagher winner of three thousand at the comfortable odds of six to 
one. Mr. Forrest, who had never before missed seeing the cup run 
for, did not see that memorable finish. All the other members of the 
staff were present, together with all the rest of the world worth noting. 
In an open carriage across the stretch and near the paddock — right in 
front of the grand stand — there bobbed up and down a lilac parasol 
with the blonde head of Miss Rosalind Baker under it. Mrs. Com- 
myngs, satisfied with a plain black silk shade, occupied the seat at her 
side, and in front was to be seen the soldierly figure of Count Meagher. 
Mr. Burke, who was attired in a faultlessly-fitting gray tweed suit and 
who had a field-glass slung over his shoulder, first discovered this 
little group of friends as he stood aloft in the reporters’ gallery, a 
figure of modern Apollo, waiting to “ call” the race for guidance of 
the other gentlemen of that wonderful engine of civilization, the press. 
He first caught the glance of Rosie’s bright eyes, — as he was bound to 
do, occupying so conspicuous a position. As soon as he caught that 
glance, therefore, in the full view of twenty thousand eyes, with ad- 
mirable composure and grace, he took off his hat, made a fine bow, 
and then said, in a low voice, to those of his friends near by, — 

“ There’s Miss Baker with Meagher : he wants to bet, and some 
one of you might go over and give him a chance to get to the betting- 
room.” 

And this was done, and the count was soon relieved, and had an 
opportunity to pursue, unvexed by care, the exciting vice of “ picking 
out the winner.” He pursued it, too, with such success that before 
the day was over he was in fine humor, telling many a good story and 
proposing to come around to the Banner office that night at lunch-time 
and share his good fortune with us at Allen’s. And promptly at the 
hour he came, and, while he waited for those in the throes of a last 
paragraph, he talked gayly and enthusiastically of the sport. 

“ You’ve devilish good horses here, d’ye know, Burke?” said he. 
“ Even that Enquirer colt that lost me three hundred to-day made a 
run down the stretch that was worth the money to see. Fact is, I 
never saw better horse-flesh for courage and straight running ; and I’ve 
seen ’em go wherever good running is made. But you do need more 
show and fashion on the course, my boy. That makes half of the 
glory of sport, — the splendor, the beauty, and the luxury of it.” 

“ Well, we haven’t got a Newmarket nor a Longchamps, Meagher,” 
replied Mr. Burke, banteringly, “ but we are willing to get ’em.” 

“ Not Longchamps, — not Longchamps,” rejoined the count. “ You 
don’t want Longchamps, but Chantilly, the loveliest and finest spot of 
earth where sport is made. And when you get that, my boy, you 


48 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


want Paris with it. You want Parisian animation, taste, color, and 
abandon. In Paris they have discovered the art of life. The people 
you see at Chantilly are the artists of existence. They have made 
living as fine an art as that of sculpture, — painting, — poetry.” 

For the very first time, Count Meagher was talking with real vol- 
ubility and spirit. There was no preoccupation, no indifference, no 
spirit of mere suggestion that was intended only to light the torch of 
animation in others. 

Those who were not occupied drew nearer to listen. Major Kil- 
gore walked in, expecting to find Mr. Forrest, and stood for a few 
moments waiting. The clear and animated tones of Count Meagher 
reached him distinctly where he stood in the door-way, to which the 
count’s back was turned. 

“ And when we get all of that, Meagher,” continued Mr. Burke, in 
his bantering vein, “ we want the genuine Parisian morality to give it 
savor, — eh ?” 

“ Parisian morality,” said the count, buoyantly, “is the poetry of 
existence. What is morality or immorality to the true artist, who lives 
to live, and not to die? To the true painter, poet, actor, — what is 
morality or immorality to these? Bah! it is a feature of the face 
only. Is it beautiful ? is it characteristic? — that is all they ask. It 
is a feature of the face, like a nose, or an eye, or a chin : if it is beauti- 
ful and characteristic it goes into the picture. Life, my boy, is beauty, 
it is not morality. Morality ! It was the First Napoleon who said 
that laws and morals were made for the soldiers of the line, but that 
he was above all. Does a Napoleon of art or society ever ask for 
morality ? It is for the soldiers of the line ” 

“ Which may be . . . very proper for . . . some artists,” inter- 
rupted the cold and monotonous voice of Major Kilgore, colder and 
more deliberate than ever. The major took a few steps forward, and 
faced the count with a gaze that might have pinned a man to a stake. 
“ But it strikes me . . . they are very poor principles ... to pro- 
claim among young men . . . with characters forming.” The major 
chopped his words, and there was a deliberate scorn that tingled in the 
tones. There was a gleam in his eye and a curl of the lips. 

“Bah!” said Count Meagher, carelessly, paying back to the major 
indifference for scorn. “ These young men are not school-children.” 

The word was like the hiss of a serpent to the old major ; and 
those of us who knew him expected instant resentment. But he 
sought to restrain himself. His eyes blazed and his nostrils were 
distended with anger as he took the words out of Count Meagher’s 
mouth and answered him : 

“We are all school-children, I hope, sir, ... at least . . . touch- 
ing such sentiments as those you have uttered here.” The major’s 
deliberation was accentuated by the snap of a rising and rasping in- 
flection, and the words fell like whip-lashes. “ It becomes the oldest 
. . . not less than the youngest ... to be children of ignorance . . . 
concerning such ideas.” 

There was that to be seen in his manner that made the count hesi- 
tate and then seek to qualify. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


49 


“I am not giving utterance to any special sentiments of my own,” 
he rejoined. “ I am merely declaring what artists of the world think 
of morality and immor ” 

“ I do not find, sir,” persisted the major, in his iciest and most 
provoking manner, “ such thoughts in Shakespeare, ... in fine music, 
... in great pictures. I do not see any such sentiments, sir, ... in 
any of the arts . . . that have given me pleasure or profit.” 

Count Meagher opened his lips as if to reply, and into his cold 
gray eyes there came a gleam like the glint of a stiletto. Major Kil- 
gore stood gazing at him, with a slight quiver of the lips that he 
sought to prevent by compressing them. His hands were nervously 
playing with the lapels of his coat. 

Fortunately, at that moment Mr. Forrest appeared at the door and 
called aloud to the major that he was ready. 

For a moment Major Kilgore hesitated, still looking at Count 
Meagher. The gleam in the latter’s eye softened at the opportunity, 
and a smile played at the corners of his mouth so slight that it seemed 
but the echo of a fleeting impression. He made an almost impercepti- 
ble inclination of his head, as if he relinquished a subject that was not 
profitable nor pleasant. Then the major slowly turned on his heel, 
and in a moment more had disappeared in the descending cage of the 
elevator. 

“ What a man !” declared Count Meagher, in a tone that contained 
volumes of expression. And, with a smile that was not all ease, he 
led the way to Allen’s. And then Perkins declaimed an opinion of 
Major Kilgore that was neither conservative nor all favorable, and 
Mr. Burke sighed, as if the major were a problem of unfathomable 
and not always agreeable import. 

“But Major Kilgore,” said Count Meagher, “is an old-fashioned 
gentleman who has not seen much of the world, and who does not 
know what the world thinks and does. I’ve no doubt he is right in 
the main, as representing thousands and thousands of people who are 
always right and for whom we do not care a rap. I shouldn’t have 
talked as I did to a Sunday-school class, you may be sure of that ; 
but to you young gentlemen, who are journalists, who have eyes and 

brains, — why ! ” And he stopped suddenly, with a gesture that 

suggested the flowing completion of an intellectual compliment that 
did credit to the confidence he reposed in us. 

“But what a man!” he added, contemplatively. “You call him 
Major : has he seen any service or experience in life, or is the title 
one of compliment?” 

“ He had a lifetime of service, Meagher, in four years,” said Mr. 
Burke, quietly. “ He has been through enough to test all convictions. 
He was as brave a man as fought in the civil war.” 

“ Yes,” put in Perkins, feelingly, “ and he would kill you, Meagher, 
as calmly as he talks. He is an old duellist.” Then he added, tri- 
umphantly, “ And that’s some Paris here for you, by gad !” 

And, seriously enough, the count finished his glass, lighted his cigar, 
and we walked out where the night was balmy with the soft air of 
spring, and the moon gazed at us as steadily as Major Kilgore’s eye. 

Vol. XLIX.—4 


50 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

WAR AND OTHER REMINISCENCES. 

Quarrel between Major Kilgore and Count Meagher was inevi- 
table, but it was apparent to all of us that accident must promote it. 
The count came to the office, indeed, but less frequently, and when he 
met the major passing in and out there was no sign of recognition. 
Major Kilgore was a scrupulous man in his recognition of the rights 
of others, and, as the count had friends there, the count had full right 
to visit the office, protected by the law of hospitality. But we con- 
stantly expected trouble between the two, and the situation grew more 
intense when we learned that Count Meagher had laughed at the idea 
of B-osie Baker’s taking a tragic rdle in Mr. Forrest’s play, and had 
advised her not to listen to absurd advice, but to go to New York or 
to Europe, where, he predicted, talent like hers would be appreciated. 
And, what was worse, it was discovered that Bosie distinctly agreed 
with him and had declared that she would not undertake the part of 
Lollia. All this came out bit by bit, and the unhappy author of 
“ Caligula” was in despair. He admitted to his patient adviser that 
Mrs. Commyngs had tried in vain to persuade Bosie; that Uncle 
Dick had quarrelled with his daughter in his attempt to exert parental 
influence in favor of the major’s wish. Fitzgerald, sole lessee and 
proprietor, alone refused to interfere. “ My time comes when I have 
to cast the play,” he said, “ and I shall then say play or quit — see ?” 

The question became an office discussion of much capacity for 
producing trouble. Mr. Perkins was a warm champion of Count 
Meagher’s views. He looked up from a pile of religious notices one 
evening and with great fervor proclaimed it a profane shame to think 
of taking a girl like Bosie Baker and setting her to crying her head 
off during four acts, only to be killed in the fifth. 

“ Why, that girl,” he declared, “ hasn’t got any tragic stuff in her. 
She’s only a soubrette; and you ought not to try to kill her with 
tragedy.” 

“ Of course your vast experience,” began Mr. Forrest, with broad 
but biting sarcasm that even Mr. Perkins could feel, “ makes your 
opinion of great weight. But do you not think that after only a few 
weeks of experiment there may be room for a difference of opinion ?” 

“Yes, of course,” returned Mr. Perkins, flatly, “among people 
whose opinion wouldn’t be worth having. Anybody can see that girl 
has got life in her. She ought to be to America what Schneider is to 
Paris or Lydia Thompson is to London.” 

We all knew where that opinion came from. 

“I’m afraid,” said Mr. Forrest, with contemptuous severity, “ that 
your estimate of the possibilities of her genius may be too high. Now, 
others of her friends have only expressed the idea that she might be- 
come an ordinarily good tragic or romantic actress, like Bistori or 
Neilson. Do you really think, from your critical study of Mile. 
Schneider and Miss Thompson, that she might hope one day to rival 
those eminent artistes ?” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 51 

This was a blow that fell like a trip-hammer on poor Perkins, who 
had not been off a farm six months. 

“ Oh, well,” he answered, with stolid good humor, “ that’s all 
gammon you’re talking now, — irony, I know. But anybody can see 
for himself, without a college education, that Rosie’s nothing but a 
soubrette and you can’t make a tragedienne out of her.” 

Everybody knew that these opinions of Mr. Perkins’s were the 
opinions of Courjt Meagher at second-hand. And everybody knew that 
Major Kilgore knew it. There was a duel waging over the artistic 
career of Miss Rosalind Baker, and, howsoever quietly it was waging, 
the feeling was intense. The major and Count Meagher continued to 
see each other in the office without recognition and without collision. 

Indeed, the count was sitting on Mr. Burke’s desk, commenting 
upon some serious news of sporting moment, the evening Major Kil- 
gore brought in his friend Colonel Buckley Hamilton, of California. 
The colonel was a tall, lean, iron-grayed man of sixty, with keen and 
quick eyes set in a face somewhat puffed and rosy with high living. 
His body was slim, and his face rather stolid, covered with pink 
splotches, but cleanly shaved and apparently freshly powdered. He 
was neatly attired in an old-fashioned style, a Prince Albert frock-coat 
buttoned closely about his body and descending over the slight swell 
of a well-developed stomach. His standing collar, with sharp and 
protruding points, was as white as snow, and his black silk stock was 
exactly in place. He wore a high-crowned soft hat, was dignified, but 
cordial and garrulous. 

Major Kilgore introduced Colonel Hamilton to several of the force, 
and the colonel took a chair and talked flowingly. 

u Been great changes since I used to know the Banner , thirty years 
ago,” he said. “ Yes, sir, great changes. The office then was around 
on Carnation Street, next door to a faro-bank.” The colonel pro- 
nounced “faro” trippingly, as if it were spelled “ fairer,” and that 
stamped him at once as one who had been upon easy terms with life in 
its more rapid phases. “ Old Man Hardee was the editor then, and he 
used to say that he was going to quit, because sitting up all night at 
work was making his eyesight so bad he couldn’t see how to shoot well 
next day when trouble commenced.” 

This appreciative reminiscence at once installed Colonel Hamilton 
on a friendly footing. 

“ Old Hardee was a worker,” he continued. “ At that time news- 
papers were not what they are to-day. Hardee and his local editor 
did all the work. That was before everything got to be ‘ news.’ Now 
a newspaper has so many reporters they fall over each other getting 
around town ! Old Hardee was ‘ one of the boys,’ too. He loved to 
play faro-bank, and he fought everybody who didn’t like what the 
Banner printed and who felt called to be insulted and fight about it. 
He was very fond of faro-bank. One summer night his local editor 
got drunk, and Old Hardee had to write up the paper by himself. It 
was sweltering hot, and the faro-table in the house next door had been 
moved up to the window. It wasn’t six feet from where Old Hardee 
sat writing away at his table. About midnight, when the game was 


52 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


warming up, Old Hardee heard the dealer say , i Make your bets, gentle- 
men, on the turn/ He couldn’t stand it any longer. He got up, stuck 
his head out the window, and called in the next one, ‘ Say, Billy, I call 
it king-seven for ten dollars !’ And he won, too, — by the Lord Harry !” 

Colonel Hamilton was full of genial reminiscences. He knew Har- 
dee’s rival, Jethro Claymore, and repeated a stanza of Claymore’s best 
poem, “ To the Years that have Flown Too Fast.” It was written 
as a Carrier’s Address one night while Mr. Claymore was drunk. 
“ Everybody used to drink then, and gamble,” he explained, easily. 
“ I came here one winter with two nigger men and a girl belonging to 
my wife. They got me drunk one night, and I lost ’em all.” 

The circle had gradually grown, and all those who came up had 
been introduced to Colonel Hamilton. In the midst of it Count 
Meagher rose to leave Mr. Burke’s desk and walk out. In order to 
do so he was forced to walk past the group around Major Kilgore and 
his friend. Colonel Hamilton looked up and fastened his keen eye 
upon him as he approached, and then made a movement as if sup- 
posing that this was another member of [the force seeking introduction. 

Major Kilgore saw the instant’s situation. His face became set, 
and he gazed coldly at Count Meagher, who passed by without any 
sign and walked out. Colonel Hamilton’e eyes were riveted upon 
Count Meagher’s face as he advanced and passed, and they followed 
him until he disappeared. 

“ Who’s that, Kilgore ?” he asked. 

“ His name is . . . Meagher,” answered the major. 

“ Meagher?” repeated Colonel Hamilton. “One of the force?” 

“ No,” replied the major, “ he is not.” And then we saw a won- 
derful transformation and an exhibition that startled all of us. Major 
Kilgore’s eyes blazed with anger ; he rose unsteadily to his feet, step- 
ping backward a pace or two as he did so, with his hands clutching the 
lapels of his coat, — a favorite trick when he was excited. Walking 
up and down the floor, with his eyes fixed on Colonel Hamilton, he 
almost shouted, “ He’s an infernal scoundrel, sir ; ... a low scoundrel, 
without principles and without honor; . . . and, I believe, without 
courage. . . . He is known as Count Meagher; . . . but I believe 
he is a professional sharper, sir, . . . and a villain. Whenever he 
dares to address me ... I shall cane him within an inch of his life, 
... as I would a dog ! . . . He has no business in this office, sir !” 
And the major looked fiercely around as he fairly screamed the words. 

“ What — what’s the matter with him ?” asked Colonel Hamilton, 
looking at Major Kilgore in surprise, and then at the young men, who 
had drawn back, amazed at this sudden and terrible outbreak in Major 
Kilgore’s usually determined but well-restrained temper. 

“ He’s an infernal scoundrel, sir,” replied Major Kilgore. “ Is it 
not enough ? — A scoundrel, . . . with years enough to know better, 
. . . who spends his time in idleness, . . . corrupting the young and 
teaching them his own loose principles ! . . . He ought to be sent out 
of town by the police, . . . before a gentleman is compelled to lay 
hands upon him . . . and cane him like a dog !” 

Major Kilgore was in an acute rage, and the members of the 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. • 


53 


Banner staff were astounded. His eyes were gleaming like coals of 
fire, and his hands clutching furiously at his lapels. He bit his lips 
and hesitated, but he continued to pace up and down the floor, planting 
his heels firmly and nervously, his gaze roaming from one to the other 
of the members of the staff. Mr. Perkins took occasion at one of the 
turns to slip quietly out the door. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said) Colonel Hamilton, “ for bringing up a 
disagreeable subject. I thought at first I knew him.” 

“ Perhaps you have met him, sir,” replied Major Kilgore. “ He 
goes everywhere here, — the scoundrel that he is.” 

“ No, I haven’t met him here,” responded Colonel Hamilton. 
“ But I thought I knew his face. He looks uncommonly like Jack 
Quinn, who was a captain in St. Leger Grenfel’s regiment and after- 
wards turned up in Frisco dealing faro-bank, and a brace game at that! 
He was smoked out there, and went to Honolulu.” 

As Major Kilgore listened, pacing the floor nervously, Colonel 
Hamilton sought to make amends by diverting the subject : 

“Some of the fellows we knew in the C. S. A. have had queer 
luck in the shuffle, Kilgore. You remember Knowles, of Georgia? I 
found him keeping bar at Sacramento. Young, of North Carolina, 
who led that charge at Fredericksburg, is running a restaurant in Colo- 
rado; and Thomas, of East Tennessee, — by the Lord Harry, he killed 
himself with drink, working in a mine in Arizona, — had the jim- 
jams seven times, they say, and thought his head was a rabbits’ nest. 
Last time I saw you 4 riled,’ Kilgore, was that night in the trenches at 
Fredericksburg when Nelson hid your tobacco-bag. You wanted to 
fight him, by the Lord Harry, there and then, but he wouldn’t do it, — 
because, he said, he would rather kill Yankees than gentlemen. And 
you both agreed to take your chances next day on a fool trial which 
would fight the Yanks best. But you couldn’t keep the tab, it was so 
hot that next day ; and before next flight we were all giving foot-race 
to Hooker’s men. Do you remember that?” 

Under the flow of Colonel Hamilton’s reminiscences of the caprices 
of fickle fortune and the war, Major Kilgore had cooled down some- 
what, and he was led skilfully to other subjects, from which it appeared 
that he and Colonel Hamilton had been comrades in the Confederate 
service, and that the latter had gone to California in disgust after the 
struggle was over. This was his first visit, since, to the States east of 
the Mississippi, and he was making a general tour of his old haunts in 
the cities where, before the war, he had visited in splendor with his 
wife, his slaves, his equipment, and his easy habits. 

And soon they settled down to discussing old times, and left the 
City Editor and his assistants in peace to digest as they could that 
astonishing outbreak of Major Kilgore’s rancor and hostility. Not 
one of us had ever before seen him under such excitement and rage. 
And every one guessed that this hostility had been smouldering and 
waiting for some weak moment to break out. A few moments later 
Mr. Forrest came in, and was introduced to Colonel Hamilton, and the 
three walked out to lunch together, Mr. Forrest being the only one 
there ignorant of what had occurred. 


54 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“ You can come out from under the bed, Perkins,” cried Mr. Burke 
to the Religious Editor a minute or two afterwards, when that young 
gentleman sauntered into the room. 

But this sally at Mr. Perkins’s expense did not dissipate the serious 
feeling that there was trouble ahead. 

Major Kilgore never spoke harshly of anybody. We had all rec- 
ognized his as one of those frank and determined natures that take 
complaints straight to their source and never speak ill of those absent. 
This made it all the more a certainty that he would feel bound in 
honor to repeat what he had said to Count Meagher’s face and at the 
earliest opportunity. Mr. Burke said that he had heard several com- 
plaints of Major Kilgore’s temper recently. He had threatened to cuff 
the elevator-boy, and had insulted the foreman. This was all proof 
that the fascinations of Miss Rosalind Baker’s mere existence were 
working not wisely but too well. 


CHAPTER X. 

MAJOR KILGORE AND HIS FORTUNE. 

The very nature of affairs seemed to demand that the City Editor, 
next morning, should inform Mr. Forrest of Major Kilgore’s outburst 
of frightful temper, in order that he might not alone be ignorant of 
the new and serious face which it put upon the relations between the 
major and Count Meagher. So, when Mr. Forrest came into the office 
after breakfast, and just before the force was assembling for assignments 
at one o’clock, I took him aside and related all that had occurred the 
previous night, made him acquainted with the general opinion that 
Major Kilgore’s utterances boded violence when he should meet Count 
Meagher, and told him my reasons for placing him in possession of 
the facts. 

Mr. Forrest immediately sank into dejection. 

“ I almost wish,” said he, “ that I had never thought of the play. 
You cannot imagine the annoyance and trouble it has cost me. Be- 
sides, it has been cut and hacked to an extent that mutilates it beyond 
recognition. Vaderberg will not leave enough of the original to make 
a quilt piece. As I wrote it, the symmetry of the characters was 
worked out and each had an opportunity to develop itself. It is now 
a skeleton that hangs together by thin wires of that sort of dialogue 
that makes up the melodrama of to-day.” 

“Oh,” said I, “ trust something to Vaderberg’s knowledge of 
dramatic effects. You see an immense deal cut out, but the audience, 
never having read it, will not see it from your stand-point.” 

That was said because there was nothing else to say. 

“ No,” he answered, in deep dejection ; “ it’s all cut up out of any 
intelligent shape, and I’m glad there has not been anything done to 
put it on.” 

“But,” remonstrated the City Editor, “you must go on with it, 
even if you have to make a determined stand against Vaderberg’s 
cutting. Besides, Major Kilgore’s heart is set upon it.” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


55 


Mr. Forrest walked up and down the room with all the appearance 
of utter despair. 

“Yes,” he said, dejectedly, “Major Kilgore’s heart is set upon it, 
and set upon Rosie Baker’s appearance as Lollia. That will be a mis- 
take worse than Vaderberg’s work on the play itself. Can’t you see 
that the major is infatuated with that girl ? — yes, completely infatuated. 
And what a pity ! He is honorable and earnest, and her beauty and 
talent have simply charmed him. When he proposed to back the 
venture he did it purely out of friendship for me ; but that has all 
changed. Now he wants to see Miss Baker a tragic actress ; he, who 
had never seen the inside of a theatre half a dozen times in his life 
before her debut , has been fascinated by this girl. In her beauty, dis- 
played in what he considers ignoble trash, he sees, like the honest gen- 
tleman that he is, what he imagines to be genius in the guise of inno- 
cence and youth wasted because it lacks opportunity and direction. 
Serious and well-intentioned himself, he has determined she shall have 
the opportunity and the direction, and he has fallen hopelessly in love 
with her.” 

“ Are you sure of that ?” I asked. 

“ Oh, entirely,” he answered. “ Mrs. Commyngs has told me a 
great deal, and Vaderberg has told me much. I’ve seen some things 
with my own eyes, and Major Kilgore has let the rest out in his own 
way. The girl is frightened by his serious attempt to take possession 
of her career, until she fairly hates him. She is a soubrette, and she 
has no tragic capacity. Mrs. Commyngs tells me that ; and Rosie 
herself knows it. She is spoiled by the instantaneous success she has 
achieved, moreover, and she has told her father that rather than act 
Lollia she will go to New York, where, it seems, she has had an offer.” 

“ But cannot all this be intelligently explained and arranged ?” 

“ Explained ! Arranged !” said Mr. Forrest, bitterly. “ I am 
tired, body and soul, of the whole business. If you knew how I 
have been harried and harassed ! Who can explain or arrange it? I 
cannot. As long as Major Kilgore is backing the venture, can I ob- 
ject to the part he wants for Miss Baker ? It will cost several thou- 
sands of dollars to produce the play; and if it’s a failure — as I know 
it will be, since Vaderberg has cut the very life and soul out of it — I 
can never forgive myself for costing the major that sum. Now, on 
top of all, comes this trouble with Meagher, whom the major has 
never liked. It seems inevitable that the whole business is to produce 
only trouble. And I’m going to stop it right here — to-day. I’ll go 
and tell Major Kilgore that I will not go on with the production.” 

“Hold on,” said Mr. Forrest’s adviser, temperately. “Do not 
determine so quickly. This may all be a mole-hill after all. Perhaps 
the major’s not so much in love as you think; perhaps he will have 
no trouble with Meagher ; perhaps you are worried out of temper by 
your work on the play and by Vaderberg. Think over it a day or 
two.” 

“ There are no ‘ buts’ in the matter,” answered he. “ I don’t mind 
telling you, Brown, all I know. The major is hopelessly infatuated. 
He wants to marry Miss Baker. Think of it ! — the wreck of peace 


56 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


that would follow such a match ! A serious, middle-aged man, accus- 
tomed to his isolation and habits, married to a beautiful, gay, admira- 
tion-mad girl. He has made her an offer, and told her he was rich 
and he would take her to Europe to study under the great teachers, 
that she might shine in tragedy. Like an honest man that he is, he 
told her that talent like that he thought hers to be ought not to be 
hidden, and that she ought to marry him because he had the means 
to develop it and as her husband he could provide her with means 
without provoking talk.” 

“ You don’t tell me !” cried the City Editor, in astonishment. 

“Oh, yes,” continued Mr. Forrest, “and she laughed in his face, 
while he went off and complained to Uncle Dick that she did not 
treat him respectfully. Then he told Mrs. Commyngs that it was all 
due to Rosie’s youth and inexperience. And he has been back again 
and again, and she has been eluding him. He has convinced Uncle 
Dick that she is making a serious mistake, and Uncle Dick has made 
his daughter’s life wretched. Mrs. Commyngs, who told me this, said 
it was none of her business, because it was the fate of men, as far as 
she knew, to go crazy about actresses, and the easiest way out of it 
was to let them get over it the best way they could.” 

“ But,” I asked, “ is Major Kilgore so rich ?” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Mr. Forrest. “ I suppose he thinks he 
is rich enough. But the trouble with Meagher is worse still. He is 
convinced Meagher is the cause of Miss Baker’s refusal and hostility, 
and, as he never had a good opinion of Meagher, his feeling has 
changed to rancor and hatred. That is none of my affair. The major 
does not believe Meagher has either honesty or courage. I believe he 
is mistaken. But whether he is or not — if Meagher had the courage 
of a thousand lions, it would not deter the major from denouncing 
him. And there is going to be serious trouble when they meet. As 
for me, I’m sick and tired of the whole business, and I’m going to 
take myself out of it, because I don’t think Major Kilgore is exactly 
in a responsible frame of mind, and I may be able to withdraw some 
of the influences that disturb him and make him unhappy.” 

Again Mr. Forrest’s adviser counselled patience ; but Mr. Forrest 
was determined, and to all the reasons turned an obdurate countenance. 

“ Come on,” he said, “ come with me now to see Major Kilgore. 
Before any money is spent, before anything is done, I want to see if I 
cannot put a stop to all the trouble.” 

The City Editor could appreciate this unselfish determination, despite 
his advice to the contrary, and so together they walked down the hall to 
Major Kilgore’s room, where he sat at his desk busy with his work. 

“Good-morning, gentlemen, . . . good-morning,” he said, with a 
cold smile that meant cordiality, bowing as he saw us enter. We both 
shook hands with him, and then, without any beating about the bush, 
Mr. Forrest began. 

“ Major Kilgore,” said he, “ you remember Mr. Brown was the 
first of our friends to be let into the secret of — er — ‘ Caligula.’ He 
knows that you kindly offered to pay the expenses of the produc- 
tion ” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


57 


“ And the money is ready, — now, if you are ready for it,” inter- 
rupted Major Kilgore, with the smile still on his face. 

But I came to say,” persisted Mr. Forrest, “ that I have con- 
cluded not to produce it. There are many reasons, which I will 
explain to you some time when we have more leisure.” 

As Mr. Forrest was saying this, Major Kilgore dropped his pencil, 
and looked up with his face drawn with anger. 

“ At present,” concluded Mr. Forrest, “ it is enough to say that it 
cannot be produced ; and, while I thank you for ” 

Major Kilgore rose to his feet, nervously fingering the lapels of 
his coat. 

“ And have you, sir,” he demanded, in his coldest tones, while his 
eyes blazed and looked Mr. Forrest straight through, — “ have you 
joined with others to thwart me ” 

“No, sir,” interrupted Mr. Forrest, instantly. “I have joined 
with nobody. I am thinking of you and myself. It will cost several 
thousand dollars to produce the play, for which you have kindly offered 
to be responsible. Now, I do not wish to spend as large a sum of 
your money as that without being sure of success with the play. If I 
did, I should never ” 

“ I thought at first,” interrupted the major, who had visibly re- 
laxed as Mr. Forrest spoke, and who now was quite himself again, 
with the vague little smile upon his lips, — “that you were . . . 
leagued with certain persons . . . against me. I beg your pardon. 
... I have been unjust. . . . But I hope you will . . . not allow 
any consideration ... of money to . . . step between us and the 
production. . . . The small sum is of no . . . consequence to me. 
... I can tell you two gentlemen in confidence . . . that I have 
plenty ... to spare such a sum without missing it. You would not,” 
the major continued, his smile dying away, but a mild and earnest 
look coming into his eye, — “ you would not, I am afraid, believe . . . 
how much money I have made . . . out of the markets lately ; . . . I 
need not tell you ; . . . but I suppose that in Old Hundred’s Exchange 
Bank I have at least fifty thousand dollars.” 

“ Fifty thousand dollars !” repeated Mr. Forrest, in great astonish- 
ment. 

Major Kilgore smiled, and seemed to enjoy the sensation of sur- 
prise exhibited upon both the countenances before him. Then his 
face became serious again, and, walking to the door, he closed it, and, 
coming back to us again, he said, — 

“I trust you will not speak of this ... If it were known, I 
should be . . . exposed to all sorts of annoyances, . . . perhaps to 
conspiracy. . . . When men make a great deal of money . . . there 
are always scoundrels . . . lying in wait ... to get it. Respectable 
as the banks are, ... I would not dare let them know of . . . my 
wealth. ... I do not keep it in one bank.” 

It will not do to say that Mr. Forrest and I were both amazed. 
We were struck dumb with the revelation. We had never suspected it. 
The same thought occurred to both of us, as we acknowledged after- 
wards. If Major Kilgore had fifty thousand dollars in Old Hundred’s 


58 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


bank, how much did he have in the others ? The major seemed to 
divine this thought from our astonished and bewildered countenances. 

“ Oh,” he said, “ I have money ... in every bank in town, . . . 
in larger and smaller sums.” Here a troubled look came over his face, 
and, altering his manner to one apparently explanatory, he continued : 
“ I do not want this . . . money for my own use. . . . You are my 
friends, and . . . you will not misunderstand me. ... I have no tastes 
or habits . . . that require money. If I had wanted money I could 
. . . have made it long ago, ... as much as the wildest desire would 
demand. ... I have not studied the markets and the course of specu- 
lation ... in vain for thirty years.” 

No words can describe the mute wonder with which Mr. Forrest 
and his companion listened to this confession of a secret that had in a 
moment converted Major Kilgore, in their estimation, from a plodding 
man enveloped in his own isolation, into a Monte-Christo who could 
stand off and enjoy the wonders he might himself create. He motioned 
to us to be seated, but he did not himself sit down. He stood up, and 
occasionally took a few nervous steps up and down the floor as he 
talked. There were some traces of excitement, too, as if he had for 
the first time let this secret out from his own breast and was excited at 
its very proportions. 

“ You cannot imagine,” he said, drawing a deep breath and striking 
himself on the breast, “ what it is ... to carry alone a secret that is 
... so near discovery and which means . . . unhappiness to millions 
of men. . . . Fortunately, no human being but myself . . . knows 
the only possible way of . . . forecasting prices. I shall not tell you 
the secret. ... It shall perish with me. . . . But it is so simple 
that . . . day after day I have waked up ... in terror lest somebody 
without the moral courage ... to despise riches . . . should have 
discovered it. ... I offered to make one man rich, . . . but the 
miserable creature disappointed me in my ideas of him, . . . and he is 
poor to-day. 

“But no more of that. ... I do not want money for myself. 
... I want it to do good to others. I want to encourage genius, 

. . . honorable ambition and struggling talent, . . . wherever I can 
see it. What are a few thousands of dollars — to me ? If they are lost, 
I can replace them. ... So, Mr. Forrest, I trust you will not — 
hesitate or turn back ... on that account. ... If it requires five 
thousand or ten thousand dollars, ... or even more, to produce your 
play properly, . . . you shall have it. . . . Come to me to-morrow 
morning at eleven o’clock, and we . . . will go to the bank and get 
enough to begin the . . . work of preparation, — say five thousand 
dollars.” 

Mr. Forrest was so overcome that he could only stammer his thanks. 

“ I cannot,” he said, “ refuse so much — kindness from such noble 
generousness — as yours, major.” 

“ Tut, tut !” said the major ; “ that’s nothing from me. . . . That 
is what your genius and your right principles deserve. — But not a 
word of this,” he added, as we started out in our bewilderment. u Not 
a word to . . . any one about what I have told you.” Then, turning 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


59 


to the City Editor, he said, “ I have you in mind, Mr. Brown. ... I 
have watched your work as a journalist, . . . and I have plans for 
you.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Brown, with a depth of gratitude as 
sincere as it was ready. He could not say more. The world was 
rising under his feet. And in that moment he remembered, with 
thankfulness, that hard work and an honest desire to do his duty were 
at least deserving of recognition, even if that recognition stopped where 
the princely and generous old major had left it. It was something to 
be in the thought of such an honest, appreciative, and wonderful man. 

“ I have plans for you both, and for others,” said the major, as he 
bade us good-morning, and we walked out. 

There were two young gentlemen walking upon air in the hall of 
the Banner office. There was not enough air in the wretched old 
building to enable them to fill their lungs. One of them requested 
Mr. Burke to look after the assignments, and went out with the other, 
to find the sun shining as it never shone before. The atmosphere was 
buoyant as water under the strokes of the swimmer, and the world 
seemed younger and sweeter and fuller of joy than it ever had been 
before. 

“ What did I tell you ?” asked the City Editor of Mr. Forrest. 

“ You did not tell me that !” answered Mr. Forrest, with an em- 
phasis that suggested something he dared not put in words. 

“But,” he continued, “ who would have thought it? We must 
keep that a secret as we would keep our honor. Let us not even talk 
to each other. But here goes for ‘ Caligula/ trouble or not, success or 
failure. I cannot stop now.” 

“ No,” said his chief adviser. “ And if you are wise you will go 
to-morrow and complete your arrangements with the major. You will 
need money, and it helps confidence in the others to feel that it is forth- 
coming. It may even make Vaderberg reasonable. But what plans 
do you think the major has for me?” 

“ Perhaps a new paper ; perhaps an interest in the Banner” 

And then the talk took its course reminiscentially about our early 
struggles and our hopes and ambitions. Mr. Forrest, it is true, seemed 
to me somewhat full of his Ego. He went over his hopes and fears 
concerning “ Caligula” with a lighter heart, too, as if the troubles 
were passed ; but he did not seem inclined to listen. At least I should 
have liked to elaborate more to him my plans in journalism if I should 
ever become a proprietor, but he did not seem disposed to listen. As 
we came back to the office several hours later to resume our work, 
steadied and calmed by reflection, we saw Major Kilgore, and we both 
looked at him as he passed by on the other side of the street, and felt 
distinctly — at least the City Editor did — the wonderful change that 
had come into our minds respecting him. Those two buoyant hearts 
beat as one, and the City Editor felt that here was for once the good 
fairy of fortune at work. No honester, better, simpler, truer heart ever 
held riches in prayerful trust for good than the heart beating under the 
homely but hqnest breast of Major Kilgore. 

I did not fully appreciate what a change this knowledge made in 


60 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


ray estimation of the major until Count Meagher came in that night 
for a few minutes to see Mr. Burke. He spoke to me, as he passed, 
with his usual politeness, and I felt a repellent chill strike me as he 
did so. Perhaps it was that an unconscious mental process had revealed 
to me for the first time the distinct gulf that separated him in every 
respect from the moral type represented by Major Kilgore. They 
were both cold and deliberate men, but now the difference in their 
temperaments was visible. Count Meagher’s coldness was wary and 
cautious ; Major Kilgore’s was natural and disadvantageous. I felt 
the infinite value of that temperament, prosaic and unattractive as it 
was, which was so unselfish that it could occupy itself with the good 
of others whom it could not charm and from whom it could not get 
the pleasures of sympathy. There could be nothing more disinterested 
and generous than Major Kilgore’s aid given so freely to Forrest. I 
could see now how this almost friendless man could have a purpose 
almost sublime in encouraging Rosie Baker to a serious career. If he 
chose to marry her and give her the benefits of fortune, I could under- 
stand how, notwithstanding the disparity of their ages and tempera- 
ments, he would never be the cause of her unhappiness. Interest as 
unselfish as his would never willingly cause pain to the young creature 
whose career he was so manfully trying to advance. 

Then I understood, too, with a sudden shock, his feeling towards 
Count Meagher for hindering his plans, for sympathizing with Miss 
Baker’s unseasoned judgment. I experienced myself, for the first 
time, a hostile feeling and one of suspicion towards the count. Here- 
tofore all of these persons had been mere friendly acquaintances, made 
in the course of recreation and pleasure. Rosie Baker was merely 
an actress whom I knew well enough and admired and liked. The 
dangers of her position were nothing to me, because, while I respected 
her and wished her every good and honest fortune, I could not feel in 
any way responsible for her. But I could put myself in Major Kil- 
gore’s place and understand with what honest fear he must regard the 
influence of Count Meagher upon the young girl. While there had 
been nothing in the latter’s conduct that I had seen which indicated 
wrong motives towards Miss Baker, the very character of the man was 
disturbing to Major Kilgore. All the seriousness of Count Meagher’s 
nature was given to pleasure. The money which he had in such 
plenty and spent so lavishly was spent for the pleasure of others as 
well as himself, but only for pleasures, not for that serious good and 
advancement which is assistance. To him Rosie Baker was a pleasure, 
her beauty an intoxication. To Major Kilgore she was the incarnation 
of possibilities in achievement, her beauty an aid to a serious, useful, 
and successful career. No wonder he was jealously alarmed and 
irritated at Count Meagher’s influence. I experienced the feeling for 
the first time myself, and saw the immeasurable difference between 
Major Kilgore’s well and honorably meant devotion and the count’s 
dilettante and dangerous interest. It was a struggle over the beauty, 
the genius, the budding capacities of that charming young creature 
that became instantly to me a personal feeling. And I mentioned 
this to Mr. Forrest when he came in. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


61 


“ I have seen this all along,” said he. “ I could understand how 
Major Kilgore, with his elevated standard of honor and responsibility, 
could scorn and despise any influence that seemed frivolous. When 
he saw that influence in Count Meagher it instantly led him to greater 
lengths to render service to Miss Baker, and his high spirit has turned 
into bold hatred at the feeling that his noble intentions were likely to 
be frustrated by Count Meagher. I cannot say I agree with him, but 
I can understand and sympathize with him.” 

Fortunately, Count Meagher did not stay long. He was gone 
when later in the evening Major Kilgore came in with Colonel Hamil- 
ton. They had been dining together, and the colonel was in high 
spirits. 

“ Kilgore and I have fought the war over again,” he said, “ from 
Manassas to Appomattox ; and the Confederacy won all along the 
line. But that’s all right : even the Yankees wouldn’t object to our 
winning at our own dinner- tables, especially when there was nobody 
on the other side to fight us. It makes me feel young again, and I 
see Kilgore, there, a slim young fellow of thirty, again, fighting like a 
gray hornet against the devil’s own blue-coats. We are both young 
again. It takes more than war and pestilence to wear the old boys 
out. Let’s make a night of it, eh, Kilgore ? Let’s go and hunt the 
wild beast of fortune in his lair in the jungle of the green table ; or 
have you quit that sort of thing ?” 

“Long ago,” answered the major. His voice sounded a little 
thick, and he spoke with some difficulty and a trembling of the chin. 
I wondered if he had been drinking too much. 

“ A complete reformation ?” asked the colonel, pleasantly. “ Some- 
thing,” he continued, flowingly, “ like a general Appomattox surrender 
to the good enemy ?” 

“ I was not at Appomattox surrender,” answered the major, irrele- 
vantly and somewhat sluggishly, his utterance still thick. And then 
he rambled along on war reminiscence, ignoring Colonel Hamilton’s 
suggestion. 

“That’s all right,” interrupted the latter; “but let’s go and take 
one whirl with the tiger.” 

“ I have not done so,” answered the major, “ for years. ... I will 
go with you to one of the clubs, . . . where you can amuse yourself 
. . . with cards, for stakes ; but I do not play. ... I have not done 
so for years.” 

And they started out together, Colonel Hamilton briskly, with the 
expectation of excitement to round out an evening of pleasure, Major 
Kilgore slowly and apparently with reluctance. 

Colonel Hamilton cheerily invited us to come, and Mr. Forrest and 
the City Editor promised to join them later and look on. 


62 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


CHAPTER XL 

MAJOR KILGORE AND COUNT MEAGHER. 

It was just turning midnight when Mr. Forrest and I entered 
the Jefferson Club, where Colonel Hamilton was revisiting the pale 
glimpses of his pleasures of thirty years ago. I remember quite well 
the time, because the club was closed promptly at one o’clock in the 
morning, and I reflected afterwards how much that was unexpected 
could be compressed within the brief compass of a chance hour. The 
Jefferson Club was composed of gentlemen, but at that time — as in 
many other clubs that have since been wrecked and forgotten as bad 
dreams because of it — gambling was permitted, and was, indeed, one 
of the principal occupations of the members in attendance. But the 
gambling was confined by consent, generally, to the round games in 
which gentlemen then took their excitement. Colonel Hamilton had, 
upon entering, had both whist and poker proposed to him. He chose 
the latter, but, it seems, after pursuing fortune with even chances for a 
short time he had proposed that some of the gentlemen present form 
a bank for faro. This was a suggestion that met with much favor, as 
the colonel was well known by reputation to most of the members ; 
and when Mr. Forrest and his friend entered, a dozen persons were 
gathered around the improvised faro-table, half of them betting against 
the game, the others composing the bank watching the progress with 
much interest. Colonel Hamilton, his chair drawn up in the centre, 
was eagerly playing, while Major Kilgore sat across the table from 
him, watching the changes of fortune in his serious and dignified way. 
The stakes were small, and the game was proceeding with much good 
humor and occasional laughter. 

In the midst of it the door of the card-room was quietly opened 
and Count Meagher walked in. 

Mr. Forrest and I were standing where we could see him as he 
first entered, and I felt my heart stand still for a moment and then 
begin to beat rapidly with an expectation of grave consequences. It 
was that instant recognition of a crisis which a reporter feels when he 
sees a man led out for death, and which makes his pulse gallop like a 
race-horse while his trained observation, like a cool jockey, sits firmly 
with an eye for every motion and awake to every detail of the picture. 
In that moment, deprived, by the very suddenness of the confrontation, 
of the power to stir and avert what I felt was to follow, every detail 
of the scene was burned into my memory as if the snap-shot of a 
camera had instantaneously photographed it there. If there should 
be need for its use in the Banner , a diagram of the card-room of 
the Jefferson Club was ready for making. 

As has been said before, the door of the hall opened quietly, and 
Count Meagher walked into the room as the game was proceeding 
amid good humor and laughter. Colonel Hamilton had just lost on 
the queen, and, replacing his stake, he said, — 

“ I am too old a man to be fortunate with the ladies, and therefore 
I shall copper the queen to lose, Mr. Dealer.” 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


63 


K 


J 

® - D 


® 

L — 



•E -B 



L L 


A, where Colonel Hamilton sat, opposite the dealer, E, across the table, F; B, where 
Major Kilgore sat, watching the game; C, where Mr. Forrest and the City Editor stood ; D, 
the point to which Count Meagher had advanced when Major Kilgore perceived him ; H, H, 
H, II, H, H, card-tables ; J, door opening into the hall through which Count Meagher entered; 
K, K, doors opening into adjoining rooms; L L L, windows. 


All the players and most of the spectators were gathered around 
Colonel Hamilton, who had his back turned to the hall door. All of 
them laughed as he made the bantering remark. By this time Count 
Meagher had advanced half a dozen steps towards the table. His 
quick eye had comprehended the meaning of the group. Mr. Forrest 
and I were standing near Major Kilgore, who was sitting down, — all 
of us faciug the hall door. Major Kilgore’s eyes were upon the game, 
but ours were fastened upon Count Meagher as he advanced. I saw 
upon Meagher’s lips his suave and confident smile, anticipating the 
pleasure of this excitement that was varying the usual custom of the, 
club. It was plain that he, too, would play. In fact, his attention 
was so held by the picture that suggested its own origin to him that 
he had not probably recognized any of those present, unconsciously 
assuming the usual presences and feeling at home there. He did not 
look at Mr. Forrest or at me. He was advancing thus, easily, confi- 
dently, smilingly, when suddenly, like a piercing draught of winter 
penetrating a glowing room, the hard, irritating voice of Major Kil- 
gore demanded above the hum of good humor, — 

“ What ! — Is that man permitted here /” 

Instantly there was a hush. I had noticed before that nobody ever 
misunderstood Major Kilgore’s tone. It was indescribably propulsive; 
it had no sympathetic quality ; it was always serious and ominous of 
the determined nature behind it. 

“ What ! — Is that man permitted here !” he said, not interrogatively 
alone, but with indignant and scornful surprise in the tone. 

Every smile vanished ; all present looked up inquiringly at Major 
Kilgore, and then, following his scornful look, saw Count Meagher in 
the middle of the room. I saw the smile fade from Meagher’s face. 
With a lightning glance that comprehended instantly the situation, as 
his careless glance had comprehended the occupation of the group, he 


64 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


stopped, instantly, under a chandelier. His face was pale and set, and 
his eyes emitted for an instant that gleam, like the glint of a stiletto, 
that I had seen in them once before. Colonel Hamilton was lost from 
his sight in the group about the table. Taking in, as he stood, all the 
significance of the cold demand and of the concentrated curiosity that 
hung upon the answer, he still did not speak, but stood alone, gathering 
himself to meet the crisis that was at hand. 

Then Major Kilgore arose from his chair, with his nervous hands 
at work, and, looking at the gentlemen, inquiringly asked again, — 

“Does the Jefferson Club, gentlemen, . . . permit that man to 
come here ?” 

And, that there might be no doubt as to the man he meant, he 
levelled his finger straight at Count Meagher, as he spoke. 

As if by instinct, to avert or delay the catastrophe of a serious 
situation that nobody fully understood, several gentlemen moved to- 
wards Count Meagher and others towards Major Kilgore. As they 
approached the count he stepped aside to cast a look of inveterate de- 
fiance at Major Kilgore, and called out to him, — 

“ Do I understand, sir, that you are speaking of me ?” 

“ I am asking . . . a — information ... of gentlemen, sir,” re- 
turned Major Kilgore. “ I have not addressed you.” 

The old major’s voice was as cold as lead and his words as direct as 
bullets fly. The thickness of utterance noticeable early in the evening 
was gone. He stood as erect as an athlete, as rigid as stone, his head 
thrown back with an air of contempt, and fine scorn in every line of 
his face. His fingers were playing with the lapels of his coat, and his 
eyes were flaming. 

As he spoke, the few persons who had moved towards each adver- 
sary went nearer to them, as if still inclined to interpose. One of the 
party near the forgotten table of pleasure sought to penetrate the mys- 
tery of the situation. 

“Why, Major Kilgore,” he asked, deprecatingly, “what is the 
matter with Count Meagher?” 

“Is his name Meagher?” retorted the major, as coldly and rasp- 
ingly as possible. “ I have given him no name, sir. . . . Perhaps 
you are better . . . informed than I am, sir. . . . But that” pointing 
again over the intervening heads directly at Count Meagher’s pale face 
and gleaming eyes, — “ that is the man I mean.” 

“You do?” returned Count Meagher. “Then I mean you when 
I say you are a miserable fool, and that you are impertinent, and that 
if these gentlemen will give us the room we can deal with each other.” 

He held his hat in his hand. As he spoke he tossed it to one side 
across the room and with a deft motion of his hand was about to draw 
a revolver from his hip pocket. But those who were intent upon 
averting the catastrophe were as quick as he. They seized him and 
prevented him from drawing the weapon, and others came to their 
assistance. Count Meagher seemed to fear hostility in this, and strug- 
gled to free himself. But he was overcome, and the weapon taken 
from his hand. In the mean time, Major Kilgore had not moved from 
his place, nor had his face abated a jot of the coldness and contempt 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


65 


that it expressed. Two gentlemen had laid hands upon him, also, in 
abundant caution. To these he said, — 

“ Gentlemen, I am not armed.” 

At this juncture one of the party, whose name it is not necessary 
to use in this painful record, held up his hand, and, commanding silence, 
began to speak. Count Meagher was standing with his arms held by 
those about him, a flush upon his face, and his dress disordered with 
the struggle, while Major Kilgote, as cool as any girl in summer, stood 
with a friend on either hand. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the speaker, " will some of you kindly lock the 
doors ?” 

This was done, and then, addressing himself to Major Kilgore, he 
continued : 

“ As a member of the Governing Board of this Club, and for the 
information of all the gentlemen here who do not understand this 
quarrel, I feel that I have a right to ask of Major Kilgore, an old 
member who is seldom in attendance but who has long been valued 
here, the meaning of the serious words he has directed at Count 
Meagher, also a member.” 

There was silence to hear the reply. 

“I have directed no words ... at Count Meagher,” said the 
major, laying emphasis on the name. “ I spoke of that man !” And 
again he pointed with a glance of contempt at the count, whose face, 
now pale and set, was a mask of defiant hatred. “ I do not know his 
name. ... It may be Count Meagher here, ... as it was Jack 
Quinn at San Francisco, ... or may have been other aliases ... as 
a professional gambler and sharper needed . . . the protection of dis- 
guise !” 

“You are an infernal liar!” cried Count Meagher, leaping from 
the hands that held him and starting towards Major Kilgore, who 
instantly advanced to meet him. But both men were held back by 
those who had thrown themselves between the antagonists. 

Major Kilgore’s accusation had fallen like a bomb-shell, and every 
eye, that had turned on Count Meagher as the charge was launched, 
was now turned back again upon Major Kilgore. 

“I have proof of the truth ... of my statements ... in my 
friend Colonel Buckley Hamilton, . . . of San Francisco, . . . whom 
all of you must know ... by reputation as a gentleman. . . . For 
him I am responsible to the club . . . and to the members of the club. 
Colonel Hamilton recognized . . . that man . . . this morning dis- 
tinctly.” 

As he spoke Colonel Hamilton’s name, that gentleman came out 
from the group and stood beside Major Kilgore. Count Meagher gave 
him one look of implacable hatred, and then fastened his eyes upon 
the major, who, waving his hand towards Colonel Hamilton, stepped 
aside. 

“ We all know Colonel Hamilton,” said the governor, “ well enough 
by reputation and in person to accept him among gentlemen as worthy 
of fullest credence. — This is all true, Colonel Hamilton ?” he concluded 
interrogatively, a significant way of putting the question. 

Vol. XLIX. — 5 


66 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“And more,” answered Colonel Hamilton, promptly. “ He was 
Jack Quinn in ’Frisco, and Jack Quinn in the army. That is, 1 sup- 
pose so. There was a Jack Quinn in the army who was a run-down 
from a good old New Orleans family, but I did not know him then. 
But this Jack Quinn here I did know in ’Frisco, and he was a 4 skin- 
gambler.’ Those who knew him in the army said he was a brave man, 
but a ‘ Welcher’ then, and owed honor debts to every man in the com- 
mand. I know he was run out of ’Frisco for dealing brace games of 
faro upon gentlemen, and he carried three thousand dollars of my 
money with him as part of his haul. — You know that’s true, Jack, you 

d d scoundrel. — I hadn’t laid eyes on him for five years until last 

night I saw him in the Banner office. I said to myself, ‘ That’s Jack 
Quinn or his ghost ;’ but I asked his name, and they told me it was 
Meagher. Major Kilgore told me that, and said further that in his 
opinion Meagher was a dashed scoundrel. ‘ More than likely,’ I said 
to myself, ‘ that is Quinn, unless all the dashed scoundrels in the world 
have a family likeness.’ I said nothing, however, until this morning, 
when I saw him playing billiards at the Empire Hotel, and I’ll bet a 
thousand to ten — limited to ten thousand — on that game finger on his 
left hand. I’ve watched it deal faro-bank a thousand times, and I’ve 
seen his face keeping it company over the box until I would know it in 
Africa. I told Major Kilgore of it, and I say again that it’s Jack 
Quinn — and you know you are, Jack !” 

The colonel appealed innocently enough to. Meagher, who stood 
without a tremor on his face, erect as a soldier, and coolly waiting for 
the story to end. 

“Mr. — Meagher,” said the governor, turning to him, “you are a 
member of the Jefferson Club, and you have a right to be heard. Do 
you care to say anything now, or would you prefer to wait until the 
matter is heard by the Board? For, I take it, it must be heard, and, 
as a member of the Board, I shall report it for investigation. But in 
the mean time, as a member, you have a right to be heard by all these 
gentlemen who have listened to the other side.” 

He was pale and deliberate under the scrutiny of those two dozen 
eyes, but he was prompt to answer. Bowing to the governor, he 
said, — 

“ I am a stranger in this town, although I have many acquaintances. 
I have been here a year, and I have paid my way. I ask any gentle- 
man here if I have not paid like a gentleman, or if he knows anything 
that I have done in that time which was unworthy. I am not to be 
catechised here — or elsewhere, for that matter — as to my honor, except 
by those having the right. But I will say this much of your Colonel 
Hamilton, — and I leave it to those who know me to say whether I am 
a man of my word, — that I never saw him in my life before last night, 
and that, old man as he is, he should know better than to gamble and 
to lie. And I will be pleased to repeat this anywhere else.” 

This retort was straight into Colonel Hamilton’s teeth. It caused 
a flutter and a sensation, in the midst of which the colonel smiled, and, 
stepping a pace towards Meagher, answered, — 

“ That’s all right, Jack ; you are brave enough ; but I think you 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


67 


know I’m not afraid of you. You are brave enough ; and if you were 
not such a dashed eternal scoundrel I’d give you a chance to say it 
elsewhere.” 

The response to this was a scornful smile, and Count Meagher 
continued, with a curl of the lip : • 

“ As to Major Kilgore, I am free to say that I do not understand 
his part in this — er — conspiracy upon any other than personal grounds, 
which, as they concern a lady ” 

“ Stop, sir !” thundered Major Kilgore, starting towards Count 
Meagher. Again we seized him, and those about the count again laid 
hands upon their charge. The major’s rage was frightful to witness. 
Gathering himself together with one great effort, he flung Mr. Forrest, 
Colonel Hamilton, and myself aside, and made a mighty stride towards 
Meagher. But the others present threw themselves upon him and 
forced him back. Breathless with his exertions, his eyes protruding 
and gleaming with rage, he leaned against the wall, the picture of 
baffled vengeance. Meagher looked him over with a dauntless air, 
and waited, evidently, for the excitement to calm down to continue his 
speech. 

As Colonel Hamilton came up to the major the latter asked, “ Have 
you got a pistol, sir ?” 

“ Yes,” answered the colonel, frankly. 

“ Give it to me,” said Major Kilgore, and then, raising his voice, 
he called aloud, — 

“ Give the scoundrel his pistol, gentlemen, . . . and be good 
enough to leave the room. ... We can deal with each other here.” 

He held out his hand for Colonel Hamilton’s pistol, and that 
gentleman was innocently enough about to deliver it, when loud pro- 
tests were made, and Colonel Hamilton was reminded that the Jefferson 
Club was not the place for violent affrays. 

“ I expect that’s true,” said Colonel Hamilton, putting back his 
weapon. 

“ Let me go ! let me get at the scoundrel !” shouted Major Kil- 
gore, and he fought with a fury that was painful in its lack of dignity, 
demanding to be released and allowed to go out of a club-house where 
scoundrels were permitted to become members and impose themselves 
upon gentlemen. “ I am responsible for what I say,” he screamed. 
“ I will post him upon the board as a scoundrel. ... I will post him 
upon the streets and in the press. ... I will kill him upon the street 
as I would a dog !” 

It was most trying and painful, to see Major Kilgore beside him- 
self with disorderly rage and hatred, his clothing torn, his collar 
asunder, his hair disordered and falling upon his forehead and into his 
eyes, which were fiery with hatred and fixed upon Count Meagher, 
who now stood coolly watching this spectacle, that began, by its very 
excitement and difficulty, to arouse anger and mortification in all who 
witnessed or were taking part in the struggle. 

“ Does it occur to you, gentlemen,” asked Meagher at this moment, 
“ that Major Kilgore is drunk and irresponsible?” 

“ It occurs to me,” retorted the governor, turning a withering 


68 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


glance upon him, “that this has gone quite far enough. I know 
Major Kilgore very well. He is quite responsible for all he says. 
I think you had better go, — Mr. — Quinn.” 

“ A thousand to ten on it !” cried Colonel Hamilton, supporting 
this direct but quiet adoption of the name that showed Meagher how 
the charge had become conviction in the minds of those present. 

There was a moment of dead silence. Count Meagher, being 
released, adjusted his disordered dress deliberately, buttoned his long 
frock-coat carefully across his breast, brushed his sleeve, looking in- 
tently at his hand as he did so, and seeming all the time to be medi- 
tating something to say. He walked to one side of the room, where 
he had thrown his hat, recovered and smoothed it with his silk hand- 
kerchief, placed it upon his head, and hesitated for a moment as he 
looked at Major Kilgore, who, exhausted, had sunk into a chair, where 
he was surrounded by friends. Then Count Meagher turned on his 
heel and walked to the door. 

“ I shall send your pistol to your hotel,” called out the governor, 
as Meagher stopped while the door was unlocked and opened. 

“ I shall be in luck to get it !” was his last contemptuous retort, 
flung in the face of all, as he turned his back and walked out into the 
hall- way and disappeared from view. 

Major Kilgore was trembling and murmuring thickly to Colonel 
Hamilton. A carriage was soon called, and he was helped down and 
placed in it. He moved slowly and leaned heavily upon Mr. Forrest’s . 
shoulder, and there was something pathetic in the stoop of the shoulders 
usually so rigid and erect. Colonel Hamilton and Mr. Forrest went 
with him home, and the City Editor returned to the Banner office, 
every nerve tingling with excitement over so great a sensation that 
must be suppressed. 


CHAPTEE XII. 

# 

THE TRAGEDY. 

The next morning found the City Editor astir at the office earlier 
than usual. It was in the atmosphere to be up early that morning. 
It was scarcely ten o’clock when he heard the slow, formal, familiar 
tread of Major Kilgore sound in the hall as it passed to his room. A 
few minutes later Mr. Forrest entered the City Editor’s room, that was 
so gray and inhospitable and ghastly-looking by the light of day. 

“The major has come down,” said the City Editor, tentatively. 
The same thought was in both minds, and yet it was seeking expression 
cautiously. 

“How does he look?” inquired Forrest. 

“ I have not seen him ; but I heard him in the hall, and, if he 
looks as he walks, he is all right.” 

“ What a game and true old fellow he is !” exclaimed Forrest, in a 
suppressed tone of admiration. “ It is a great pity to see him embroiled 
in this way. I’m sorry he is able to be out. When we left him last 
night he was heavily asleep ; and I hoped he would be in bed to-day. 
The fact is, Brown, there is going to be a man killed when the major 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


69 


meets Meagher to-day, — if they should meet. It is my opinion they 
will meet, because Meagher will wait for him. He may be a scoundrel 
and an impostor, but he has courage.” 

The City Editor felt every word that was uttered a reflection of 
his own restless thoughts on the same subject. If Major Kilgore and 
Count Meagher met, there would be death to follow. 

“ What ought we to do?” he asked of Forrest. 

“ I am quite sure we ought to apprise Major Kilgore of our ideas,” 
said he, “ in order that he may not go out without warning. That is 
why I came down so early. But the major will resent any interference 
or any uneasiness we may express.” 

“ Still, as his friends, we must at least speak.” This was the City 
Editor’s judgment, and Mr. Forrest admitted that it was the correct view. 

“ You have an appointment with the major at eleven o’clock this 
morning,” said the City Editor ; “ and we can make that an excuse to 
call in his room before he goes out.” 

“ About that money ?” cried Forrest. “ Do you suppose I would 
bother him about such a thing at this time ?” 

“ If the bother gives us an excuse to do Major Kilgore a service, 
certainly. If we have an excuse, it is not so hard as to go in and break 
the subject. You can lead up to it.” 

“ Well,” sighed Forrest, reluctantly, “ I suppose you are right. 
But I would rather fight Meagher myself than to broach the subject 
of that money to him this morning.” 

“ Oh, pshaw, Forrest !” replied the City Editor, in plain expostu- 
lation. “ You must not be too sensitive on that subject. Entirely 
aside from this quarrel you should call on the major. You go at his 
own request to accept his own proposition, made to you as a gentleman 
should make it. You must go at eleven o’clock, as you promised, and 
let the major take care of the rest. No foolish hesitation now. Strike 
while the iron is hot, and take the chances for fame and success for 
yourself, and safety, pleasure, and satisfaction for the major.” 

This advice had the effect of bracing Mr. Forrest to the ordeal, 
especially as it was supplemented by the promise of the City Editor 
to go with him. 

And at eleven o’clock they walked into Major Kilgore’s room, 
where he was sitting at his desk, writing away, as calm as the summer 
morning without. As he turned to welcome us he was very pale, and 
there were shadows under his eyes, but the eyes were bright and his 
countenance was as amiable as its habitual solemnity would permit. 

“ Good-morning,” said Mr. Forrest, deprecatingly, and, at the 
moment when he was facing the crisis, becoming confused under the 
ordeal. “ I beg your pardon, major, for coming at all this morning, 
after that unfortunate affair of last night ” 

“ Why, what has happened ?” interrupted the major. 

“ Well,” began Mr. Forrest, somewhat disconcerted, “you told me 
to come at eleven this morning to get the money for ‘ Caligula,’ but 
after last night’s — quarrel, I — thought I ” 

“lam sorry to hear . . . that you have had a quarrel,” said Major 
Kilgore, with interest manifest in his tone. 


70 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“I have had no quarrel,” explained Mr. Forrest. “I mean the 
unfortunate — ah — affair you had last night.” 

“ Oh, I have had ... no quarrel,” said the major, his shadowy 
smile playing over his lips. Forrest had blundered, it was plain. 
Major Kilgore was of the old school of chivalry. He was putting 
aside as nothing an encounter that might well have set the bravest 
man’s blood a-gallop, and was determined to hold his denunciation of 
Meagher as no quarrel, but a duty well begun and to be finished with- 
out hesitancy. The consequences were his. He was even buoyant. 
“ I have had ... a good night’s sleep, . . . and I feel like a *. . . 
fighting-cock this morning,” he said. And the smile played over his 
lips again, and he struck his breast with his hand to show how vigorous 
he felt. “ And I am ready ... to go down to the bank,” concluded 
Major Kilgore, “and get what you need. . . . How much shall it be?” 

“ Well,” — and Forrest hesitated in the confusion of that question 
of his own interests taking the leading position : he was trying to 
work back to the subject of Meagher, — “ I think one thousand dollars 
will be enough at present ; but it will require five thousand dollars 
altogether. But I do not think that is sufficiently pressing now, 
major. I came really to ask you about Meagher.” 

“Do not mention that name, sir,” sharply cried Major Kilgore. 
“ We will go and get the money. . . . Better take it all at once,” he 
concluded, in a cheery tone, — as cheery, indeed, as his monotonous 
voice could express. 

I thought so, myself. It was plain that Major Kilgore would let 
nobody penetrate his intentions or his expectations on the score of his 
deadly quarrel. I watched them go down the hall together towards 
the elevator. Major Kilgore was erect, buoyant, and firm. He walked 
with a spirit that might have fearlessly saluted Caesar before death in 
the million-eyed ring at Rome. What he might meet when he left 
that building was in the grasp of fate or chance ; yet he walked straight 
without looking back, refusing all conference, all suggestion, carrying 
with him his own supreme and sufficient courage and readiness to meet 
whatever lay in wait. I felt my heart suffused with the impulses of 
admiration, pride, and affection. There was in it, also, something of 
compassion, — compassion that all this hero’s kindly virtues were covered 
with that immovable mask of unbending coldness which turned off the 
warm recognition of other sympathies. I glanced at his desk, where 
he had been writing an editorial on “ The Silver Question,” and I felt 
the pathos of his condition. With riches himself, doing his duty 
modestly, and honestly thundering away against the encroachments of 
the moneyed classes, with the secret of money-getting in his breast he 
was locking it away from those who would not dispense riches benefi- 
cently. He was a good, honest, appreciative man. And I patted 
the unfinished page with my hand and walked out to take up my own 
duties. 

And I was engaged with them industriously an hour later, when I 
heard the scampering of footsteps in the hall, and the next instant the 
elevator-boy thrust his head in the door, and, with his eyes wide open, 
cried, — 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


71 


“ Better come down-stairs, Mr. Brown. Mr. Forrest’s done brought 
Major Kilgore in, killed !” 

“ What !” I shouted, springing to my feet and running with the 
acute lad to the elevator : “ killed ?” 

“ I ’spec’ he’s cut,” said the boy, as he pulled the rope and the 
cage shot downwards. “ Mr. Forrest brought him in a carriage and 
helped him into the back counting-room.” 

As I reached the lower hall I met Dr. Conant coming into the 
building leisurely. 

“ Come in at once, doctor,” I said, seizing him. “ Major Kilgore 
has been wounded, and, I expect, is seriously hurt.” 

We went through the hall into the side-door that led into the 
private room behind the counting-room. One of the Business Man- 
ager’s numerous staff of useless assistants was holding the door, and 
he held it but a hair’s breadth ajar to scrutinize us before he would 
allow us to enter. As soon as he saw the doctor, however, he opened 
the door, turning his head as he did so to say, — 

“ Here’s Dr. Conant : he can tell us what’s the matter.” 

There on the floor, his head pillowed upon some bound volumes 
of the Banner , — a pillow he had helped so laboriously through so 
many years to construct, — lay Major Kilgore, still and unconscious. 
His face was flushed, almost to a purplish color, and his chest heaved 
with the struggle to breathe. Mr. Forrest knelt at his side and fanned 
him with his hat, and a gaping half-dozen of counting-room super- 
fluities stood about him. 

“ What’s the matter, Forrest ?” asked Dr. Conant, curtly. 

“ I think he has just fainted, doctor,” answered Mr. Forrest, looking 
up with an expression of great relief. 

“ What made him faint?” 

Mr. Forrest hesitated. “ I don’t care to talk freely before so many,” 
he said, “ because it is somewhat confidential.” 

“ All of you get out and give us plenty of air,” said Dr. Conant, 
quickly and determinedly. He put his hand on the shoulder of one 
of the gaping superfluities as he spoke, and his brusque manner started 
us all. 

“ You can stay, Brown,” said Mr. Forrest; and I remained behind 
while the cavalcade of sullen, curiosity- baffled clerks filed out. 

“ Now what is it, Forrest ?” asked the doctor, as he shut the door 
firmly. Dr. Conant had been surgeon in Major Kilgore’s regiment 
during the war, and Mr. Forrest could talk freely. 

“ Major Kilgore,” he said, “ has had a frightful quarrel with Old 
Hundred, of the Exchange Bank, and after it was over he fainted.” 

“Old Hundred !” I cried, in amazement. 

“ What was it about?” snapped the doctor, laconically. 

“ The major went to the bank to draw some money. He told Mr. 
Brown and myself that he kept a large deposit there ; in fact, he said, 
doctor, that he had fifty thousand dollars there.” 

“Ah ?” said the doctor. 

“ And he wanted five thousand dollars this morning,” continued 
Mr. Forrest, “ which he intended advancing to — a — a — friend.” 


72 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


“ Indeed ?” muttered Dr. Conant. 

“ He talked to Mr. Brown and myself about this yesterday, and 
said some things that indicated his distrust of the bank. This morn- 
ing Old Hundred, it seems, would not let him have any money. I 
did not go back to the parlor, but there was a quarrel, and Old Hun- 
dred accused the major of being drunk, and ordered him out of the 
room. The major, I know, was not drinking. You know how he is. 
He seized Old Hundred by the throat, and would have killed him if 
the clerks and a lot of people in the lobby had not run in and pulled 
him off. Major Kilgore was furious with rage, and they sent a mes- 
senger for an officer. When he came the major had fainted, and we 
put him in a carriage and brought him here. I did not want to 
take him to his boarding-house : there’s no use in causing annoyance 
there.” 

“ Humph !” said the doctor, with a serious look in his face. “ I 
suppose,” he continued, “you know he didn’t have fifty thousand 
dollars there?” 

Mr. Forrest and I looked blankly at each other, and I answered 
that we did not know what he had. 

“ What he has got,” continued Dr. Conant, “ is general paralysis 
of the insane. He is hopelessly , incurably insane .” 

“What!” cried Mr. Forrest and myself, in a gasp of the most 
undisguised astonishment. 

“ I have known it for weeks,” said Dr. Conant. “ He came to 
me a month or two ago with a proposition to make me rich by gam- 
bling in wheat and pork. He became furious when I told him I was 
not in that business. He told me a cock-and-bull story about the 
thousands of dollars he had made gambling in futures, and of the 
immense sums he had deposited in different banks to keep his wealth 
a secret. He had the fool idea that if the banks knew he was so rich 
they would combine to rob him of it.” 

Mr. Forrest and the City Editor were following the narrative with 
intense curiosity, but at this juncture they looked at each other and a 
little foolishly at hearing this point quoted as a matter-of-course evi- 
dence of insanity. 

“ Why, a fool would have thought from his talk,” continued Dr. 
Conant, in his pitiless tones, “ that he had discovered a certain ‘system’ 
of winning at wheat-gambling, as some half-mad gamblers imagine 
they have a certain system of breaking the bank at New Orleans — if 
they could only play the system out. And the poor fellow was pos- 
sessed by a crazy fear that somebody else might discover his system by 
accident. He had a plan for distributing riches to deserving people 
in need of money. That was queer, now. You know Kilgore, with 
his habits and tastes, had about as much use for money as Hottentots 
would have for overcoats. And that was perfectly clear to him even 
in his madness, and it became a proud and beautiful self-abnegation.” 

Which fact Mr. Forrest and the City Editor had fully recognized, 
and the recollection of which they conveyed to each other in a look. 

“ He said to me,” resumed Dr. Conant, “ that he could not offer 
me money, but that if I would put five hundred dollars in his hands 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


73 


he would make me rich. I saw his mind was affected, and soothed 
him down. Then I told him he ought to take rest, now ; that he had 
plenty of money ; that I noticed he looked tired. I thought this dog’s 
life of slavery on this dashed newspaper was too much for him, and 
suggested that if he did not rest his mind might suffer. Well, he 
fired up again, insulted me, and swore his health had never been better 
in his life ; said. I was trying to get him under treatment and rob him 
with excessive charges. I left him, and told the Old Man that very 
day that Kilgore was crazy. That was all that came of it. Next 
thing I heard, he had quarrelled with old Buck Hamilton, of Califor- 
nia, who hadn’t seen him for fifteen years and who served in the war 
with him. I told Buck the man was crazy ; and Buck said he never 
saw a man that the doctors didn’t think crazy. Why, only last night, 
I am told, he had a row in the Jefferson Club with Count Meagher, 
and prodded Meagher so that they came near having a shooting-match. 
Now here’s this attack on ‘ Old Hundred’ about this dashed imaginary 
money ; and if he ain’t shut up there’ll be murder done.” 

“ But you can cure him, doctor ?” asked Mr. Forrest, with genuine 
eagerness. 

“ Never ! Never ! They who enter that valley,” said Dr. Conant, 
pointing with his finger to the inert and heavily-breathing figure of 
Major Kilgore, lying stretched out upon the floor, “ leave all hope 
behind. The quicker death comes the better for all, but especially so 
for him.” 

It was a fearful shock to the two friends, who listened as if to the 
announcement of a death already suddenly come. They looked at 
Major Kilgore with that feeling of awful curiosity that one experiences 
as he looks upon the cold mask of some friend and would seek to read 
the mystery behind it. 

M Get a carriage, Brown,” broke in Dr. Conant’s brusque profes- 
sional tone. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE TRAGEDY IS OVER. 

We bore Major Kilgore to an infirmary, and there left him, after 
Dr. Conant had administered an opiate and installed two trusted 
watchers at the bedside. Dr. Conant drove back with us. Mr. Forrest 
and the City Editor climbed by the elevator to the office, that was so 
full of excited inquiry and so dull for the lack of that once cold and 
almost unnoticed presence. We wandered at length into Major Kil- 
gore’s room, and saw the empty chair, the tenantless table. 

“ And so, old man, — kind, honest, true old man, — farewell !” said 
Mr. Forrest, with a burst of feeling, as he swept the empty room with 
his glance, seeming to address the presence that had so long kept its 
isolated interest there. And again I felt that oppressive idea of a 
death that had already occurred. 

We walked over to the table, and he took up the unfinished editorial 
on the “ Silver Question.” It was all incoherent, and yet had a strained 
and discordant coherency. Mr. Forrest quietly crushed it in his hand, 


74 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


tore it into small bits, flung them out the window upon the air, and 
we watched them flutter and fall, like airy and unsubstantial clods, 
into the grave of space below. And then, without a word, we walked 
out of the room and into the apartment where Mr. Forrest had his 
desk. 

We sat down in silence, and reviewed, each of us, that sad tragedy, 
each with his personal load of gloom to carry. 

“ Well, what do you think of Meagher ?” the City Editor asked, 
breaking the silence after a while. 

“ I think, d — n Meagher !” replied Forrest, curtly. 

“ But Meagher is not responsible for this,” protested the^ City 
Editor. 

“ Don’t you see there’s no Meagher?” asked Forrest, angrily. 
“Didn’t you see last night that his name was Quinn, and that he was 
a card-sharp and a scoundrel? Leave the major out: there was Col- 
onel Hamilton. Wasn’t Colonel Hamilton as ready to fight as Major 
Kilgore? He is a hard case, but he is a gentleman, and he knew 
what he was talking about. No, no ; there’s no Meagher, — but there’s 
a Mr. Quinn, who belongs to the police.” 

As if echoing the sentiment, the door opened, and Uncle Dick 
Baker walked into the room, his face full of trouble. 

“Gents,” he began, in a troubled whisper, — “gents, I’m ’fraid 
she’s gone ; Rosie, I mean. I do’ know wheer she is, and I just found 
this at the house. You are friends of hers and me, and I know you 
don’t wish her no harm. Read this.” 

And Uncle Dick handed to me a sheet of note-paper that had been 
crumpled and carefully straightened out again. It was in Meagher’s 
handwriting, bold and vigorous : 

“ Rosie,” — it began, — 

“ I have got to leave this town on the ten o’clock train. I am 
bound to be in New York in three days. If you have made up your 
mind not to let certain people (who have not much judgment) ruin 
your chances, meet me at the train ready to go, and I’ll promise you 
all the success in New York that you could want. I tell you they are 
waiting for you there, — and in London, too, if you want to go. Stay 
here, and they’ll make a fool of you in their tragedies. You are 
welcome to all I’ve got to get a good start in New York, and I know 
the ins and outs of the business there. Don’t stay here and wear 
calico dresses, when you might just as well have silk and diamonds 
where they know a good thing when they see it. Think of this, and 
come. They’ll make you play that fool part in the fool tragedy, sure. 
I’ve got plenty of money for both : don’t forget that. Come to the 
ten o’clock train. M.” 

Forrest looked over the page with me as this was read, with its 
coarse temptation and pleading and its treacherous allusions and 
sneers. 

“ Where did you get this ?” he asked, as the reading concluded, 
addressing Uncle Dick. 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE. 


75 


“A messenger come to the house with it this mornin’, just as I 
was gettin’ my breakfus’,” . said Uncle Dick, his voice full of grief. 
“ I give it to her, and she read it, shut it up in her hand, and threw 
it in the coal-bin in the kitchen. She never said nothin’. She’s been 
mad at me for talkin’ about Major Kilgore and your play,” he ex- 
plained, looking at Forrest. “ After breakfus’ she put on her hat and 
went out. When she never come back to dinner, I got oneasy, and as 
I was pokin’ around I found this note and read it. She’s gone with 
him, gents!” concluded Uncle Dick, with heart-broken accents. 

“ The infernal scoundrel !” exclaimed Forrest. “ He has not said 
a word to her about the true reasons for his leaving town.” 

“ Because he was afraid of Major Kilgore !” the City Editor said. 

“ No ; not because he was afraid of anybody,” explained Forrest, 
sharply, “ but because his string was played out. What good to fight 
or kill the major, when he was already exposed and ruined? But he 
hasn’t said a word about this quarrel. Oh, the infernal scoundrel !” 
again cried Forrest. “ I wish now the major had killed him when he 
wanted to !” 

“Has him and the old major had a fight?” asked Uncle Dick. 

Then we told that sorrowing old father the story of Meagher’s 
denunciation and exposure, and every word of it added to his grief 
and his dejection. 

“ Gents,” he said, huskily, “ Rosie had a brother that was a bad 
boy and come to his death of drink. They said I was too easy on 
him bringin’ him up. Maybe I was. I was as hard on her as I could 
be on a girl. I tried to make her play in your play, Mr. Forrest, and 
I drummed it into her to listen to Major Kilgore. I ought to ’a’ let 
her alone. I do’ know nothin’ about plays and actin’, and maybe I 
was too hard and run her away.” 

Uncle Dick did not perceive the innocent irony that was in his 
speech, nor did Forrest notice it in the rush of a feeling of indignation 
against Meagher. 

“ Brown,” he cried, “ let me write this scoundrel up for to-morrow. 
Give it to Burke and me. I will send his record after him wherever 
he goes.” 

“ Certainly,” I said. “ I will see Burke at once.” 

“You won’t say nothin’ about her , gents?” asked Uncle Dick, 
pleadingly. 

“Not a word,” said Forrest. “ And more : if the telegraph is 
faster than that scoundrel we’ll get her back again. You go home, 
Uncle Dick, and say nothing to anybody.” 

And so he did. 

And he came right back again as fast as horse-cars could carry 
him, his face beaming with delight : Rosie was at home ! She had 
gone out in a fit of indignation and anger to spend the morning with 
Mrs. Commyngs, and that estimable First Old Woman had finally 
persuaded her to take the part of Lollia. And then, with a woman’s 
last little tingling spite, Rosie had taken her cry and concluded not to 
go home to dinner. And there it all was. 

“ And she’ll play in your play,” concluded Uncle Dick. 


76 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE . 


“ No, she won’t, ” said Mr. Forrest, with a sad smile. “ The play 
will not be played, Uncle Dick : the tragedy has been acted before the 
curtain was ready to go up.” 

And then we told him of Major Kilgore’s condition, of the vanished 
dream of wealth, and of the fate before the gallant old major that was 
worse than death. 

All the troubles that had besieged Uncle Dick Baker thus seemed 
to melt away at once, in ruin and woe to others. 

u How fast the silent feet of death follow upon the footsteps of 
life !” That was the first sentence of Mr. Forrest’s memorial sketch 
of Major Kilgore, marked by black rules in the paper that Major 
Kilgore had so long and faithfully served, — a sketch which was one of 
the very finest examples of that admirable writer’s best work. 

He it was, also, who, in September, wrote the following paragraph, 
over which I heaved a sigh as I saw it in proof, and which I put in 
the battered scrap-book from which it is now copied : 

The Grand Theatre. — This popular theatre, entirely renovated and re- 
painted during the vacation, will be opened for the season next Monday. New 
scenery has been painted, and Manager Fitzgerald will spare neither pains nor 
expense to please his patrons. The opening production will be the burlesque of 
“ The Silver Bell,” which proved such a popular hit at the close of last season. 
Miss Rosalind Baker, who, under the nom de th'edtre of Miss Amelie De Harte, 
made such a successful debut last season as Elvira , will reappear in that role . 
During the summer she has been studying hard, has added several burlesques 
to her repertoire, and the prospect is that Miss Baker will be seen during the 
season in a round of those light performances which appear to please the public 
more and more every year, and which seem destined to exclude serious comedy 
and the classic tragedies from the American stage. Manager Fitzgerald cannot 
be criticised for pleasing his audiences, however, and it must be said that in such 
pieces Miss Baker has proved herself a revelation of grace and delight and well 
worthy of her great popularity. 


THE END. 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 


77 



COL. A. K. M’CLURE, 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 

Y OU just struck my suit when you requested a pen-picture of the 
editor-in-chief. I am one from away back, and have never been 
anything else in journalism. The editor-in-chief does not belong to any 
particular class of newspapers. He is just as important a character in 
the little village weekly as he is in the great daily ; and whether he talks, 
or directs others to talk, for five hundred or for five hundred thousand 
subscribers, he is all the same editor-in-chief. My experience began 
forty-five years and a few odd months ago, when the click of the tele- 
graph was a strange tongue to ninety-nine one-hundredths of the news- 
paper men of the country, and when the editor-in-chief usually com- 
bined about all of the important features of the establishment, — viz., 
foreman, compositor, pressman, clerk, devil, etc. It was not in one of 
the great centres of population of the State, but away off in the shadows 
of the eastern spurs of the Alleghanies, in a little county the creation 
of which never could be plausibly explained except by the single fact 
that the people above and below the “ Narrows” never agreed upon 


78 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 


anything but to bury people when they died. A county, however 
small, had to have its newspapers, even at that early day, and the facts 
that there happened to be no Whig organ in the county, and that I 
happened to have no other employment at the time, called me, quite 
unexpectedly to myself, to the highly responsible position of editor-in- 
chief. I knew just nothing at all about either editing or printing a 
newspaper. One kind editorial friend, who is yet living in mellow 
and honored old age, patiently corrected my original grammar and 
gave me space in his little newspaper for occasional contributions while 
I was serving an apprenticeship to another calling. When my journal- 
istic venture reached the dignity of five hundred circulation, it was 
reckoned a magnificent success, and my aptness in acquiring mechanical 
knowledge, and willingness to perform the chief labor of issuing the 
paper in every department, saved me from financial disaster. 

There are some memorable incidents connected with my early ex- 
perience as editor-in-chief that may be worth recording. On one point 
my recollection is very distinct. I have, during the later years of my 
life, after the experience of more than a generation in journalism, appre- 
ciated how much had to be learned from day to day to keep pace with 
the progress of my profession ; but when I first became editor-in-chief 
of my village newspaper the one thing that I understood perfectly was 
how to edit and generally conduct a public journal. It is possible that 
many of my readers, as well as the most of the more experienced jour- 
nalists of that day, differed from me in my well-settled conviction that 
I printed the best newspaper published in the country, but among the 
pleasantest memories of my journalistic career are the sweet delusions 
of my boyhood editorship-in-chief, when everything in my own news- 
paper was simply perfect. Delusion it was, but none the less delight- 
ful ; and it is one of the many sweet recollections that all turn back to 
when they reach the period of a graver appreciation of life and its 
duties. The labors of the editor-in-chief of the little village news- 
paper forty-five years ago were mostly directed to maintain its little 
subscription-list. Every subscriber was personally known to the edi- 
tor-in-chief. He came in personal contact with them during court 
weeks, circuses, militia parades, etc., when they would wander into the 
town and occasionally drop in to pay their subscriptions or make a 
close barter to pay for the same in country produce, including wood, 
potatoes, turnips, cabbages, etc. The rural readers of that day were a 
frugal set, and the question of spending a dollar and a half for a news- 
paper was often a matter of the gravest consideration, and frequently 
required the employment of all the eloquence the editor-in-chief could 
command to prevent subscribers from stopping their paper when they 
came to pay their bills. The good old rule prevailed, and was flaunted 
under the editorial head of the paper, that, under the decision of the 
Post-Office department, “ no newspaper could be discontinued until all 
arrearages are paid.” As an illustration of the important labors of the 
editor-in-chief of that day, I might mention one typical case of a re- 
luctant subscriber, who, after trying the paper for six months, brought 
in a small load of half-rotted wood in payment of the seventy-five 
cents due for his subscription, and ordered his paper stopped. After 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 


79 


much persuasion, I succeeded in getting a suspension of judgment on 
the subject until he should come into town again. When he returned 
some days thereafter, he said that he had consulted the women-folk 
about the matter, and they had concluded that they would continue 
another six months during the winter season, “ as the papers were very 
convenient for tying up apple-butter crocks.” 

Unlike the editor-in-chief of any of our great dailies of to-day, 
the editor-in-chief of that time was omnipotent in everything pertain- 
ing to his newspaper: everything about the establishment was attended 
to by him in person. There were no reporters to play pranks and put 
libel suits upon you by airing their resentments in your columns. There 
were no editorial assistants to write on unthought-of subjects and ruin 
your appetite for breakfast in the morning because of the things they 
made you say. There were no drummers to sell paper, as what was 
called the “ bundle” came with scrupulous punctuality every two weeks 
on top of the stage from the place of purchase, fifty miles distant. Ad- 
vertisers did not quarrel over positions, and the now familiar terms of 
u top of column and next to reading-matter” were unknown to the ad- 
vertisers of the land. Volney B. Palmer was announced under the 
editorial head as the only authorized advertising agent in the United 
States, as he had taught all the editors-in-chiefs in the country that it 
would be a grave mistake to recognize any other to compete with him 
and reduce prices. His advertisements were chiefly payable in trade, 
with an occasional cash contract to enable him to get his commissions in 
money. There was no rush or jostle about newspaper establishments 
in those days to get out the edition ; all things went smoothly and 
peacefully, and the life of the editor-in-chief was one of delightful self- 
appreciation, with reasonable worldly comfort and magnificent repose. 

Mutability is stamped upon all human affairs ; and this quiet, en- 
joyable life as editor-in-chief in one of the little towns of the State 
finally fulfilled its mission. A larger field was found, and I was pro- 
moted to editor-in-chief of one of the leading rural weeklies of the 
State. This new occasion created many new duties. Instead of keep- 
ing the vision of the editor-in-chief within the narrow limits of a little 
county, a broader view of State questions and the moulding of political 
opinions throughout the Commonwealth had to be accepted. Pride in 
progressive journalism had begun to inspire the editor-in-chief in his 
broader field of labor. The paper was enlarged, and the editors of the 
State startled by a large quarto weekly that had risen to the dignity of 
a Washington, New York, and Philadelphia correspondent. “ Oliver 
Oldschool,” a name familiar to the long-time-ago readers of Joseph R. 
Chandler’s United States Gazette , was then in retirement at Washing- 
ton, enjoying the evening of his life as a starving dependant in one of 
the Departments, and he was glad to furnish a weekly letter over his 
old signature for the munificent sum of two dollars each. Political 
friends were drawn upon in various parts of the State as contributors, 
and the most grateful recollection of that period of my life is that my 
newspaper ranked with not over a dozen other weeklies in the State 
which were more potent in shaping political sentiment at that day than 
are the great dailies of the present. I can recall not over a dozen 


80 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 


weekly newspapers in Pennsylvania forty years ago, each of which was 
much more looked to for political guidance than are any of the daily 
journals of the present. 

Daily newspapers were unknown in the State outside of Philadel- 
phia and Pittsburg, and there was but one in the entire State that 
claimed to have thirty thousand circulation, while no other daily ex- 
ceeded five thousand, and most of them were below that figure. The 
editor-in-chief of the first-class weekly journal of that time was a more 
important factor in politics, and indeed a more important factor in 
directing public sentiment generally, than is the editor-in-chief of the 
leading journal now. Then newspapers were a luxury. There was 
no tendency to sensation ; they were, as a rule, sober, conservative, and 
seldom aggressive, although often violent in the heat of political cam- 
paigns, and they were accorded popular faith in their utterances. Now 
the newspaper is in every home, leads even schools and churches in the 
great work of educating mankind, and readers have learned to think 
and act for themselves. The journalistic mountains are higher than 
they were in those days, but the valleys have filled up, and the people 
are rapidly growing towards equality with their teachers. There, as 
in my earlier experience, the editor-in-chief was the omnipotent ruler 
of the entire establishment ; but the addition of a clerk in what was 
by courtesy called the counting-room, in one corner of which the edi- 
torial pen was wielded, dignified the establishment. I recall no in- 
cident of special note in this period of my experience as editor-in-chief 
beyond the often decidedly exciting occasions when armies came into 
our community wearing the uniforms to which our people were strangers. 
Jeb Stuart came upon me most unceremoniously in 1862, and gave 
occasion for one of the most interesting and sensational locals that ever 
appeared in the newspaper. Of course it came from the pen of the 
editor-in-chief. Next General Lee came along and suspended publica- 
tion for a week or two because the editor-in-chief did not remain to 
extend his hospitality to the Confederate commander. Later in the 
war General McCausland dropped in before daylight one morning, and 
all that was left a few hours later of a superbly-equipped newspaper 
establishment was smouldering ruins. The newspaper, like the town, 
suddenly rose from its ashes, and it is needless to say that the editor- 
in-chief thereafter discussed the issues of the war with more than usual 
fervency. 

I turn back to this chapter of my record as editor-in-chief with 
recollections quite as pleasant as those which go away beyond to my 
earlier and more awkward efforts in journalism. My newspaper had 
a most congenial and delightful clientage in a community of unusually 
intelligent people and thoroughly appreciative of everything progressive 
in my own profession. If I were asked what part of my life of more 
than sixty years I would rather live over again, I would choose the 
experience of more than half a generation in one of the oldest and 
pleasantest villages of the Cumberland Valley. There honesty ruled 
in politics and public trust; there was sincerity in religious and social 
life; there was generous sympathy for the unfortunate of all classes 
and conditions, and there was bountiful appreciation of every honest 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 


81 


and earnest public-spirited citizen. It was in such a community that 
the editor-in-chief who merited the confidence of his readers not only 
commanded the highest measure of respect, but attained the highest 
measure of usefulness among his people; and in the crowded multi- 
tude of our cities, unknowing, unknown, and unsympathetic, with 
no heart-strings reaching from home to home, I often turn back to my 
days as editor-in-chief of a leading weekly newspaper as the sunniest 
of my life. Thurlow Weed once well said that the editor of a widely- 
read respected weekly newspaper occupied the most delightful position 
in the world ; but the potent country weekly has passed away forever. 
Wherever it has made fame for journalism and for editors-in-chief, the 
daily newspaper has come, and the original weekly is driven to the 
wayside villages. 

What seemed to be bitter fate, bred by the desolation of war and 
the misfortunes which followed, made me a city editor-in-chief. I 
had, as I supposed, abandoned forever the dream of distinction in my 
old calling, but, however resolute in the purpose to pursue another 
profession, and however tempting seemed its opportunities, the love of 
journalism was never chilled, and it was a luxury at times to turn 
from the more perplexing duties of the law and take a rest by writing 
a leader for one of the Philadelphia dailies. Wise men change their 
purposes, though fools seldom do so, and a tidal wave came along that 
caught me up as not unwilling drift-wood on the journalistic shore 
and again tumbled me into the position of editor-in-chief. It was 
regarded by many as a quixotic venture ; and when I say that the new 
journal was started without a single subscriber, and that it had neither 
party nor patronage on which to depend for support, it may be under- 
stood why considerate friends had grave apprehensions as to the issue 
of the effort. It happened to be a period when advancement in Phil- 
adelphia journalism was a recognized and supreme necessity ; and he 
who turns back during the last half-generation and notes the progress 
of all the Philadelphia newspapers, and then takes a broader view of 
the wonderful progress of journalism in the leading centres of popu- 
lation, may readily understand why it was possible to achieve a high 
measure of success with a progressive newspaper. 

The editor-in-chief of a great daily newspaper differs little from the 
editor-in-chief of the village journal except in degree of responsibility 
and vexation. The main difference that I see between the editor-in-chief 
of a great daily and the editor-in-chief of the old-time weekly is in 
the fact that he is made responsible for the utterances of a dozen edi- 
torial associates whose writings he cannot revise, for the vaporings of 
scores of reporters whom he seldom sees and whose articles he rarely 
has knowledge of until they appear in his columns, and for hundreds 
of correspondents who are flashing their news and speculations over 
the wires from all parts of the earth, in the late hours of the night, to 
be hurriedly jammed into a newspaper and printed without opportunity 
of verifying any. For all these things the editor-in-chief is responsible 
in every way, — legally responsible for libels which he never dreamed 
of, and held morally responsible for utterances that often grate as harshly 
upon his views as upon the views of his readers. 

Vol. XLIX. — 6 


82 


THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. 


An incident illustrative of the responsibility of an editor-in-chief 
of the daily newspaper is given in one of the twenty-nine libel suits I 
have enjoyed since my connection with daily journalism. A Washing- 
ton correspondent, regarded as unusually reliable, in one of his regular 
despatches referred to some Pennsylvania politicians who were in 
Washington on political affairs, and stated that one of the men whose 
promotion they desired was a disreputable character and had been “ con- 
victed of perjury.” The editor-in-chief was as guiltless of this despatch 
as the man in the moon, but there it was published and read by hun- 
dreds of thousands, and I was just as much responsible for it in law, 
and presumably in morals, as if I had written it myself. When I 
saw it the next morning I knew that it was technically inaccurate, 
although substantially true, but I had learned, by going through a hur- 
ricane of libel suits, that technical accuracy was absolutely essential to 
the defence of such a publication in court. The man had been in- 
dicted for embezzlement as a public officer and also for perjury. It 
was finally arranged that if he pleaded guilty to the indictment for 
embezzlement and accepted punishment for that offence the prosecution 
for perjury would not be pressed. Of course he could not have been 
guilty of embezzlement as a public officer without being both morally 
and legally guilty of perjury, but he had not been “ convicted of per- 
jury,” as the despatch stated, and the indictment for that offence had 
been abandoned. A genial constable from away up in the mountains, 
after introducing himself to the editor-in-chief, politely exhibited a 
warrant of arrest for criminal libel. The case had to be tried in a 
distant county, where partisanship is often visible in the jury-box as 
well as in political contests, and this technical error of a correspondent, 
for whom the editor-in-chief had to answer, promised the exhilarating 
achievement of landing the editor-in-chief in jail. The case attracted 
much attention in the community. An ex-governor, an ex-attorney-gen- 
eral, and an ex-president-judge appeared in the sanctuary of justice to 
defend the editor-in-chief for an offence that he had never dreamed of 
committing. The boasted bulwark of our liberties, the right of trial 
by a jury of peers, was beautifully illustrated in this case. Six of the 
jurors were known, from the beginning of the case, as warmly in 
sympathy with the prosecution, — their political and personal environ- 
ment made that manifest to every one who intelligently understood 
the situation, — but the other half of the jurors were regarded as un- 
prejudiced and likely to insist upon a just verdict. The trial was 
warmly contested, and the ex-governor and the ex-attorney-general 
liberally enlightened the court on the law, the ex-president-judge 
made one of his most eloquent appeals to the jury, and an able and 
rather manly public prosecutor closed the case with an argument that 
forcibly presented what was denominated in the bond by the law itself. 
A learned judge charged with the utmost impartiality, and the case 
was committed to the jury for its judgment. I need hardly say that 
six of the jurors promptly and persistently voted to convict the editor- 
in-chief, and that the other six voted as promptly and persistently to 
acquit him. After hours of dispute, a verdict was finally reached by 
what in Pennsylvania is called the rule of “ Dutch arbitration,” — that 


GREAT PAN IS DEAD ! 


83 


is, a compromise of the dispute between the jurors. Each side finding 
that the other would not yield, a middle ground was finally chosen 
upon which all could stand, by rendering a verdict of “not guilty, 
but the defendant to pay the costs.” One half of the jury gained the 
point of acquittal; the other half of the jury gained the point of 
qualifying the acquittal by putting the cost of prosecution on the 
acquitted defendant. 

Libel suits have become one of the important incidents in the life 
of every editor-in-chief of sufficient importance to attract public 
attention or to make a newspaper read by the public, and but for the 
generous sense of justice that the law extends to the editor-in-chief, by 
protecting him from punishment for others’ wrongs as far as it can be 
done with public safety, there is not an editor-in-chief of the daily 
newspaper in Pennsylvania who would not be fined or imprisoned 
every year of his life, unless newspapers ceased to be newspapers. 
Thus the chief distinction of the editor-in-chief in these days is, first 
of all he is responsible for the general tone and expression of his 
newspaper columns, and next he is responsible for the countless utter- 
ances of others which he cannot dictate or revise. If he is a sensitive 
man, he is likely to lose his appetite every day over the first meal he 
takes after reading his own newspaper ; and if he is not a sensitive 
man, he is likely to land himself in jail by his neglect of caution 
about the things which are written and published in his name. But, 
with all its unpleasant embarrassments, I regard it as the most impor- 
tant position that a man can attain under our free institutions. The 
editor-in-chief of a widely-read and respected daily newspaper holds 
the highest public trust under our government of the people. It is 
the most responsible office to which an American can aspire. Parties 
rise and fall ; Presidents come and go ; Cabinets gather and scatter ; 
Senators and Representatives fill their brief missions and pass away ; 
but the daily newspaper continues through all the swift changes in 
politics and society, ever teaching and ever ennobling mankind if faith- 
ful to its sacred duties, and its influence, although often unseen and 
apparently unfelt, is as constant as the genial rays of the sun that 
bursts the seed and ripens the harvest. 

A. K. McClure. 


GREAT PAN IS DEAD! 

“/"'I REAT Pan is dead !” a dying creed 
VX Wailed ’neath Sicilian skies. 

“ Great Pan is dead !” in hour of need 
A spent faith always cries. 

Take comfort, soul ; for know, indeed, 

That great Pan never dies ! 

Henry Peterson , in “ Deus in Natural 


84 


THE DECLINE OF POLITENESS. 


THE DECLINE OF POLITENESS. 

W E may admit at once that the elaborate courtesies of our grand- 
fathers have been superseded by a hurry, restlessness, and self- 
assurance that are antagonistic to all stately ceremonies, and that in this 
transition social caste has been lost, and social barriers broken down, 
and many beautiful and significant symbols pushed out of recognition. 
But, in conceding so much, we must also remind ourselves that every 
age produces its own manners, and that therefore it would be mani- 
festly unjust to judge those of the present era by a standard of one 
hundred or even of fifty years ago. 

The manners of this world, like the fashions of it, are constantly 
passing away. Certain fundamentals in both cases remain ; but every 
generation has its own expression of what is movable ; and the causes 
of this variety lie deeper than any book of etiquette has ever dreamed 
of : they blend themselves with the national history and the national 
characteristics arising out of that history, the manners of all epochs 
being the flower of the special development of the humanity of that 
epoch. One hundred years ago, men had not to compete with steam 
and electricity; they had time to bow; they could afford to frame 
elaborate compliments ; they could easily interrupt the even tenor of 
their occupations to discuss the health and the domestic movements of 
a friend’s family. 

Now we are all in a hurry, and we must be in a hurry, or fall be- 
hind the marching order of the day. A very courteous man is a bore. 
Men rushing to the Stock Exchange or the office cannot stop to bandy 
bows and polite family inquiries. Women desperately in earnest with 
their lives cannot be troubled with civil platitudes which are common 
property, though each w r ould stop to listen to a few words meant for 
her alone. Words which mean nothing but politeness are now inex- 
pressibly tiresome, and only maiden ladies with settled incomes have 
time for them ; the busy world is content with a few sentences of good- 
natured chaff, and passes on without reflecting that chaff easily falls 
into familiarity and impertinence. 

Another reason for the decline of politeness is found in the fact 
that wealth now pushes itself everywhere, and cultured society suffers 
by the introduction of persons whose only claim to recognition is that 
they have made money. Making money does not necessarily make a 
man vulgar, but pushing does. Nobody is vulgar in his natural place, 
but wealth has discovered that the kingdom of fashion may be taken 
by violence, and so gold pushes, and shouts, and advertises itself, and 
does as Thackeray advised : “ If you want to be asked anywhere, ask 
to be asked.” And in this crowding, shoving, and vulgarity of push, 
courtesy is lost, and unselfishness — the fundamental quality of fine 
manners — becomes the very excellence that is not wanted. 

Yet even this change is not altogether deplorable. It is this national 
push that has filled the wilderness with cities, and turned deserts into 


THE DECLINE OF POLITENESS. 


85 


corn-fields. And in a progress almost revolutionary in its pace, there 
has been no time to keep the hat in the hand and to be picturesque 
and elegant. The newly rich, hot from the struggle of the market- 
place, have the stilfness and artificial polish of their brand-new furni- 
ture ; they are restless and assertive, and fluent unreserve, effusive 
cordiality, rapacious egotism, are their chief characteristics. How can 
fine manners spring from such a moral condition ? And if it is inti- 
mated that a parvenu people bear a strong resemblance to a parvenu in- 
dividual, the suggestion need not be taken to mean anything derogatory 
or offensive. 

Most social evils are retrievable, unless women take part in them ; 
but in the general decline of politeness women are undeniably “ in the 
transgression.” They have airily permitted that indescribable moral 
phenomenon called “ the tone of society” to be lowered. Their habits 
of gregarious fastness have been constantly more daring and reckless. 
In the middle classes, women have gradually identified their work with 
the work of men, and in this social disturbance the most delicate graces 
of life are being lost. Women’s work is indeed an immense gain to 
the community in working power ; but chivalry and tender reverence 
for women began in an age that knew nothing of strong-minded, 
strangely-dressed females, voluble and exacting, elbowing their male 
competitors in the market-place, in the courts, in the dissecting-rooms, 
and in the halls of colleges. The very element of rivalry makes 
chivalry meaningless and impossible. 

In another respect women are to blame. They have • permitted the 
practical ignoring of that law which commands home courtesy. Chil- 
dren are not now taught to honor their father and their mother ; 
and neither the tone of society nor its securities have been improved 
by neglecting those domestic good manners which sweeten and strengthen 
life at its very roots. This dereliction supposes another, — rude fathers 
and nagging mothers, who replace their artificial public manners with 
icy sarcasms, provoking silences, and irritable complainings at home. 
And true politeness depends upon an undeviating habit No man is 
polite enough, no man is human enough, whose public courtesies have not 
their origin in the gracious sweetness generated upon his own hearth. 

Unfortunately, we are apt to assume, with Rousseau, that “ nature is 
a holy thing,” and that people naturally know how to behave them- 
selves, or else we believe that good manners will of course follow a 
good education. But the general idea of education is the passing an 
examination in some book-learning. No one thinks of subjecting 
children to discipline, of teaching them obedience, truthfulness, honest 
dealing, sympathy for suffering, respect for honorable old age. Yet if 
we do not have these virtues in greater perfection than they existed in 
preceding generations, what becomes of our vaunted education ? It is, 
indeed, the relaxed discipline, the diminished respect for authority, the 
encouragement of luxury, the going out of fashion of industry, content- 
ment, and thrift, united with mere book-learning, that has made the 
working classes everywhere discontented, covetous, dishonest, without 
pride in their work, every year doing it more reluctantly, more scamp- 
ishly, more dishonorably. 


86 


THE DECLINE OF POLITENESS. 


Education is a moral training as well as a bookish acquirement ; 
and in this moral training too much neglect is shown for the social 
rules of gesture, which centuries of human experience have proved to 
be necessary. Mischiefs enough come of careless and impertinent 
language; familiarities of manner are still more dangerous. Bows, 
courtesies, costumes, ceremonies, have an enormous moral value. The 
natural inequalities that exist between father and son, teacher and 
scholar, soldier and officer, must have forms to represent them ; gestures 
of respect are necessary to discipline; and without discipline society 
would rest on the gospel that all men, women, and children are equal, 
— that the privileges of one sex or age are the rights of all ; and this 
brings us to that anarchy of creed, opinions, and usages which is the 
millennium of advanced radicalism. But infant-school teaching shows 
us how important the gestures of the body are to the training of the 
mind ; and any one can see what different beings are the soldier stand- 
ing at attention and the lout lounging through his existence. 

This is an age of transition, and an age out of proportion ; and be- 
tween its exigencies and our faculties there is a discrepancy that leaves 
us neither time nor strength for mere formalities of speech or deeds. 
Money rules everything, and no one can escape its yoke ; and money 
scorns the quiet habits of the old world ; it pulls the old social machine 
to pieces, puts what was below above, and the ancient surface of society, 
so skilfully levelled, is made to sink and swell at random. Money 
flies here and there, comes in a night, vanishes in a morning, constructs, 
demolishes, mingles, and confuses everything, and we suffer because 
we oppose to this transition all the rigidity of former habits. 

But the next generation will know how to put things in their 
proper place. Our heads ache, we are weary, the neuralgia at which 
our ancestors would have laughed tortures our fretted nerves ; we have, 
indeed, fits of strange energy, but, for all that, we have not health. 
Our children will take things differently. Look at them already ! 
What upsets us does not disturb them. We run, they sit. They will 
cultivate indifference ; they will not rush about the world ; they will 
rest ; they will not suffer anything to worry or disarrange them. They 
will close their ears and their doors, and do very well. Then their 
minds will regain the elasticity, the will, and the suavity we have been 
compelled to let go, or to spend upon the mere task of getting through 
life. 

But until this time arrives naturally there is great danger of our 
losing in the struggle that exquisite something which alone makes us 
human enough. There is real social danger in discarding all forms of 
civility, and even some antiquated costumes and ceremonies. They 
are the symbols of order and of safety; and if they are removed 
from the growing generation, as well as neglected by our own over- 
worked selves, then we voluntarily take off powerful checks from 
brutal passions, and we may gird up our loins to meet such evil days 
as we have at present no conception of. The soldier’s uniform, the 
sailor’s peculiar garb, the nun’s veil, the clergyman’s cloth, the civil 
oath, the attitude of prayer, the bridal veil, the marriage-ring, the 
sign of the cross, — these, and many other kindred forms and symbols, 


THE DECLINE OF POLITENESS. 87 

are the rivets and bolts that keep home and society from falling into 
chaos. 

But before deeds come words ; and here again women are to blame, 
because of the perversion of language they not only permit, but prac- 
tise. Slang is a note of savagery on our hearths and in our drawing- 
rooms. It replaces the easy grace of courtesy by a familiarity often 
tinged with indelicacy, and is incompatible with that respect and 
deference that the noblest ideal of womanhood demands. And coarse 
speech is speedily followed by loose manners. No pure woman will 
speak a lingo into which it would be a kind of blasphemy to translate 
the Ten Commandments and the Apostles’ Creed. There is some- 
thing painfully grotesque in imagining a jolly girl of the period talk- 
ing slang to the babe on her knee ; and all good men must frown down 
such a degradation of the world’s-mother. 

As far as this generation deserves blame for its rude, careless, selfish 
manners, both sexes are guilty : men positively so ; women — because 
of their higher moral position — superlatively so. Nor is it in man 
materially to raise the degraded standard. A noble age produces noble 
manners ; but this is an age devoted to the worship of Mammon, “ the 
least erected” of all the spirits that rule us. The meanness and thin- 
ness of men’s aims make them small and flippant; for at present they 
have no large national or religious interest to give them size and 
demeanor. Men filled with grand ideas have naturally fine manners ; 
men wrapped up in a bank-book have fine manners to cultivate. For 
private acquisitions impart only a mean ostentation, and an egotism 
that whispers its own affairs and will listen to nothing else. As far, 
then, as men are concerned, the situation of to-day is unfavorable; 
even the unusual demand for travel is against their politeness. Travel 
used to be the final polish to a fine manner ; now we have only to 
frequent railway-stations and hotel dining-rooms to believe that police- 
men would be the proper arbitrators of etiquette among well-dressed 
travelling people. 

The real responsibility for the high social tone of any nation rests 
with its women. Men left without womanly restraint revert quickly 
to a bull-dog have-and-keep-my-own way. If, then, the manners of 
an epoch are greatly below what they have a right to be, the cure for 
this social disorder rests altogether in the hands of its women. It 
would be as useless to tell a negro to change his skin as to tell a snob 
to be a gentleman, but in the presence of a pure, lofty-minded woman 
he would be compelled to behave with gentleness and unselfishness or 
to leave her society. Women influence, for good or for evil, every 
man they come in contact with ; and if they are good women their 
purity hedges them round with such divinity that men, though stained 
to the soul with ledgers and money-bags, will 

Bend to the goddess manifest again. 

And undoubtedly the first step towards this noble manifestation of 
woman’s power to reform manners will be her rigorous refusal to speak 
or to listen to slang. It is manifestly also to her own highest interest ; 


88 


MY LOVE AND I. 


for when speech becomes unruly, when assertion and denial lose all 
value, and truth and falsehood masquerade in undistinguishable forms, 
then she is nigh to familiarities of manner fatal to her purity and 
her honorable wooing ; for 

Love’s perfect blossom only blows 
Where noble manners veil defect : 

Angels may be familiar ; those 
Who err, each other must respect. 

Amelia E. Barr. 


MY LOVE AND I. 

I DREAMED, last night, that we were afloat, 
My love and I, in a fairy boat ; 

The troubles of life we had risen above, 

And had naught to do save dream of love. 

The crescent moon was our fairy boat ; 

On the soft white clouds we seemed to float, 

While far in our wake the Milky Way 
A gleaming flood of glory lay. 

My oar-blades rose and fell in the tide, 

Scattering moonbeams on every side. 

Happier far than the gods were we 
To float on that boundless, starry sea. 

Music divine fell from above, 

Whose every note was a breath of love. 

A discord rude on the music broke, 

The glory vanished, and — I awoke. 

Yes, awoke to the old, hard-working life, 

With its endless worry and toil and strife ; 

But through the darkness shines one gleam, — 

The memory of that golden dream. 

And oftentimes, as I close my eyes, 

Once more I am back in Paradise, 

Once more my love and I do float 
On the fleecy clouds, in a fairy boat. 

Albert Pay son Terhune. 


THE TRIUMPH OF MO G LEV. 


89 


THE TRIUMPH OF MOGLEY. 

M E. MOGLEY was an actor of what he termed the “ old school.” 

He railed against the prevalence of travelling theatrical troupes, 
and when he attitudinized in the bar-room, his left elbow upon the 
brass rail, his right hand encircling a glass of foaming beer, he often 
clamored for a return of the system of permanently-located dramatic 
companies, and sighed at the departure of the “ palmy days.” 

A picturesque figure, typical of an almost by-gone race of such 
figures, was Mogley at these moments, his form being long and atten- 
uated, his visage smooth and of angular contour, his facial mildness 
really enhanced by the severity which he attempted to impart to his 
countenance when he conversed with such of his fellow-men as were 
not of “ the profession.” 

# Like Mogley’s style of acting, his coat was old. But, although 
neither he nor any of his acquaintances suspected it, his heart was 
young. He still waited and hoped. 

For Mogley’s long professional career had not once been bright- 
ened by a distinct success. He had never made what the men and 
women of his occupation designate “a hit,” or even what the dramatic 
critics wearily describe as a “ favorable impression.” This he ascribed 
to lack of opportunity, as he was merely human. Mr. and Mrs. Mog- 
ley eagerly sent for the newspapers on the morning after each opening 
night and sought the notices of the performance. These records never 
contained a word of either praise or censure for Mogley. 

Mrs. Mogley had first met Mogley when she was a soubrette and he 
a “ walking gentleman.” It was his Guildenstern (or it may have been 
his Kosencrantz) that had won her. Shortly after their marriage there 
came to her that life-ailment which made it impossible for her to con- 
tinue acting. She had swallowed her aspirations, shedding a few tears. 
She lived in the hope of his triumph, and, as she had more time to 
think than he had, she suffered more keenly the agony of yearning 
unsatisfied. 

She was a little, fragile being, with large, pale-blue eyes, and a face 
from which the roses had fled when she was twenty. But she was very 
much to Mogley : she did his planning, his thinking, the greater part 
of his aspiring. She always accompanied him upon tours, undergoing 
cheerfully the hard life that a player at “ one-night stands” must endure 
in the interest of art. 

This continued through the years, until last season. Then, when 
Mogley was about to start “ on the road” with the “ Two Lives for 
One” company, the doctor said that Mrs. Mogley would have to stay in 
New York or die, — perhaps die in any event. So Mogley went alone, 
playing the melodramatic father in the first act, and later the secondary 
villain who in the end drowns the principal villain in the tank of real 
water ; while his heart was with the pain-racked little woman pining 


90 


THE TRIUMPH OF MOGLEY. 


away in the small room at the top of the dingy theatrical boarding- 
house on Eleventh Street. 

The “ Two Lives for One” company “ collapsed,” as the news- 
papers say, in Ohio, three months after its departure from New York ; 
this notwithstanding the tank of real water. Mogley and the leading 
actress overtook the manager at the railway-station as he was about 
to flee, and extorted sufficient money from him to take them back to 
New York. 

Mogley had not returned too soon to the small room at the top of 
the house on Eleventh Street. He turned paler than his wife when 
he saw her lying on the bed. She smiled through her tears, — a really 
heart-rending smile. 

“ Yes, Tom, Eve changed much since you left ; and not for the 
better. I don’t know whether I can live out the season.” 

“ Don’t say that, Alice, for God’s sake !” 

u I would be resigned, Tom, if only — if only you would make a 
success before I go.” 

“ If only I could get the chance, Alice !” 

As the days went by, Mrs. Mogley rapidly grew worse. She 
seemed to fail perceptibly. But Mogley had to seek an engagement. 
They couldn’t live on nothing. Mrs. Jones would wait with the daily 
increasing board-bill, but medicine required cash. Each evening when 
Mogley returned from his tour of the theatrical agencies, of Fourteenth 
Street and of Broadway, the ill woman put the question, almost before 
he opened the door, — 

“ Anything yet ?” 

“ Not yet. You see, this is the bad part of the season. Ah, the 
profession is overcrowded !” 

But one Monday afternoon he rushed up the stairs, his face aglow. 
In the dark, narrow hall-way on the top floor he met the doctor. 

“Mrs. Mogley has had a sudden turn for the worse,” said the 
physician, abruptly : “ I am afraid she won’t live until midnight.” 

Doctors need not give themselves the trouble to “ break news gently” 
in cases where they stand small chance of remuneration. 

Mogley staggered. It was cruel that this should occur just when 
he had such great news. But an idea came to him. Perhaps the good 
news would reanimate her. 

“ Alice,” he cried, as he threw open the door, “ you must get well ! 
My chance has come. The ‘ tide which, taken at the flood, leads on 
to fortune,’ is here.” 

She sat up in bed, trembling. “ What is it, Tom?” 

“ This. Young Hopkins asked me to have a drink at the Hoffman 
this afternoon, and, while I was in there, Hexter, who managed the 
‘ Silver King’ company the season I played Coombe, came in, all rat- 
tled. ‘ Why this extravagant wrath ?’ Hopkins asked, in his picturesque 
way. Then Hexter explained that his revival of Wilkins’s old bur- 
lesque on ‘ Faust’ couldn’t be put on to-night, because Renshaw, who 
was to be the Mephisto, was too sick to walk. ‘ No one else knows the 
part,’ Hexter said. Then I told him I knew the part ; how I’d played 
Valentine to Wilkins’s Mephisto when the piece was first produced, long 


THE TRIUMPH OF MOGLEY. 


91 


before these Gaiety people brought their ‘ Faust up to Date’ from Lon- 
don. You remember how, as Wilkins was given to late dinners and 
too much ale, he made me understudy his Mephisto, and if the piece 
had run more'n two weeks I'd probably have had a chance to play it. 
Well, Hexter said, as everything was ready to put on the piece, if I 
thought I was up in the part he'd let me try it. So we went to 
Kenshaw's room and got the part, and here it is." 

“ But, Tom, burlesque isn't in your line." 

“Isn't it? Anything's in my line. ‘Versatility is the touchstone 
of power.' That's where we of the old stock days come in ! Besides, 
burlesque is the thing now. Look at Leslie, and Wilson, and Hopper, 
and Powers. They're the men who draw the salaries nowadays. If I 
make a hit in this part, my fortune is sure." 

“But Hexter's Theatre is on the Bowery." 

“ That doesn't matter. Hexter pays salaries." 

Objections like this last one had often been made, and as often 
overcome in the same words. 

“ And then, besides Why, Alice ! what's the matter ?" 

She had fallen back on the bed, with a feeble moan. He leaned 
over her. Slowly she opened her eyes. 

“ Tom, I'm afraid I'm dying." 

Then Mogley remembered the doctor's words. Alice dying ! Life 
was hard enough, even when he had her to sustain his courage. What 
would it be without her ? 

The type- written “part" had fallen on the bed. He pushed it 
aside. 

“ Hexter and his Mephisto be d — d !" said Mogley. “ I shall stay 
at home with you to-night." 

“ No, no, Tom : your one chance, remember ! If you should make 
a hit before I die, I could go easier. It would brighten the next world 
for me till you come to join me." 

Mogley's weaker will succumbed to hers. So, with his right hand 
around Mrs. Mogley's wrist, turning his eye now and then to the 
clock in the steeple which was visible through the narrow window, that 
he might know when to administer her medicine, he held his “part" in 
his left hand and refreshed his recollection of the lines. 

At seven o'clock, with a last pressure of her thin fingers, a kiss upon 
her cheek, where a tear lay, he left her. He had thought she was asleep, 
but she murmured, — 

“ May God help you to-night, Tom ! My thoughts will be at the 
theatre with you. Good-by." 

Mrs. Jones's daughter had promised to look in at Mrs. Mogley now 
and then during the evening and to give her the medicine at the proper 
intervals. 

Mogley reported to the stage manager, who showed him Kenshaw's 
dressing-room and gave him Kenshaw's costume for the part. His 
mind ever turning back to the little room at the top of the house, and 
then to the words and “ business" of his part, he got into Kenshaw's 
red tights and crimson cape. Then he donned the scarlet cap and 
plume, and pasted the exaggerated eyebrows upon his forehead, while 


92 


THE TRIUMPH OF MOOLEY. 


the stage manager stood by, giving him hints as to new “ business” 
invented by Renshaw. 

“ You have the stage to yourself, you know, at that time, for a 
specialty.” 

“ Yes. Fll sing the song Wilkins did there. I see it's marked in 
the part, and the orchestra must be ‘up’ in it. In the second act Fll 
do some imitations of actors.” 

At eight he was ready to go on the stage. 

“ May God be with you !” re-echoed in his ear, — the echo of a weak 
voice put forth with an effort. 

He heard the stage manager in front of the curtain announcing 
that, “ owing to Mr. Renshaw’s sudden illness, the talented comedian 
Thomas Mogley had kindly consented to play Mephisto, at short notice, 
without a rehearsal.” 

He had never heard himself called a “ talented comedian” before, 
and he involuntarily held his head a trifle higher as the startling and 
delicious words reached his ears. 

The opening chorus, the witless dialogue of secondary personages, 
then an almost empty stage, old Faust alone remaining, and the 
entrance of Mephisto. 

Some applause that came from people who had not heard the pre- 
liminary announcement, and whose demonstration was intended for 
Renshaw, rather disconcerted Mogley. Then, ere he had spoken a 
word, or his eye had ranged over the hazy, lighted theatre on the other 
side of the foot-lights, there sounded in the depths of his brain, — 

“ My thoughts will be at the theatre with you!” 

There were many vacant seats in the house. He singled out one 
of them, on the front row, and imagined she was in it. He would 
play to that vacant seat throughout the evening. 

In all burlesques of “ Faust” the role of Mephisto is the leading 
comic figure. The actor who assumes it undertakes to make peeple 
laugh. 

Mogley made people laugh that night, but it was not his inten- 
tional efforts at humor that excited their hilarity. It was the man 
himself. They began by jeering him quietly. Then the gallery grew 
bold. 

“ Ah, there, Edwin Booth !” sarcastically yelled an urchin aloft. 

“ Oh, what a funny little man he is !” ironically quoted another 
from a song in one of Mr. Hoyt’s farces, alluding to Mogley’s spare if 
elongated frame. 

“ He t’inks dis is a tragedy,” suggested a Bowery youth. 

But Mogley tried not to heed. 

In the second act some one threw an apple at him. Mogley labored 
zealously. The ribald gallery had often been his foe. Wait until such 
and such a scene ! He would show them how a pupil of the old stock 
companies could play burlesque! Song-and-dance men from “the 
varieties” had too long enjoyed undisputed possession of that form of 
drama. 

But, one by one, he passed his opportunities without capturing the 
house. Nearer came the end of the piece. Slimmer grew his chance 


THE TRIUMPH OF MOGLEY. 


93 


of making the longed-for “ impression.” The derision of the audience 
increased. Now the gallery made comments upon his personal appear- 
ance. 

“ He could get between rain-drops,” yelled one, applying a recent 
speech of Edwin Stevens, the comic opera comedian. 

And at home Mogley’s wife was dying, — holding to life by sheer 
power of will, that she might rejoice with him over his triumph. Tears 
blinded his eyes. Even the other members of the company were laugh- 
ing at his discomfiture. 

Only a little brunette in pink tights, who played Siebel, and whom 
he had never met before, had a look of sympathy for him. 

“ It’s a ‘ tough’ audience. Don’t mind them,” she whispered. 

Mogley has never seen or heard of the little brunette since. But he 
anticipates eventually to behold her ranking first after Alice among the 
angels of heaven. 

The curtain fell, and Mogley, somewhat dazed in mind, mechan- 
ically removed his red apparel, washed off his “ make-up,” donned his 
worn street attire and his haughty demeanor, and started for home. 

Home! Behind him, failure and derision. Before him, Alice 
dying, awaiting impatiently his return, the news of his triumph. 

“ We won’t need you to-morrow night, Mr. Mogley,” said the stage 
manager, as he reached the stage door. “ Mr. Hexter told me to pay 
you now. Here’s your money for to-night.” 

Mogley took the envelope as in a dream, answered not a word, and 
hastened homeward. He thought only, — 

“ To tell her the truth will kill her at once.” 

Mrs. Mogley was awake and in a fever of anticipation when Mog- 
ley entered the little room. She was sitting up in bed, staring at him 
with shining eyes. 

“ Well, how was it?” she asked, quickly. 

Mogley’s face wore a look of jubilant joy. 

“ Success !” he cried. “ Tremendous hit ! The house roared ! 
Called before the curtain four times, and had to make a speech !” 

Mogley’s ecstasy was admirably simulated. It was a fine bit of 
acting. Never before or since did Mogley rise to such a height of 
dramatic illusion. 

“Ah, Tom, at last, at last! And, now, I must live till morning, 
to read about it in the papers !” 

Mogley’s heart fell. If the papers would mention the performance 
at all, they would dismiss it in three or four lines, bestowing perhaps a 
word of ridicule upon him. She was sure to see one paper, — the one 
that the landlady’s daughter lent her every day. 

Mogley looked at the illuminated clock on the steeple across the way. 
A quarter to twelve. 

“ My love,” he said, “ I promised Hexter I would meet him to- 
night at the Five A’s club, to arrange about salary and so forth. I’ll 
be gone only an hour. Can you do without me that long ?” 

“ Yes, go ; and don’t let him have you for less than fifty dollars a 
week.” 

Shortly after midnight, the dramatic editor of that newspaper which 


94 


THE TRIUMPH OF MOOLEY. 


Miss Jones daily lent to Mrs. Mogley, having sent up the last page of 
his notice of the new play at Palmer’s, was confronted by the office-boy 
ushering to the side of his desk a tall, spare, smooth-faced man, with a 
sober countenance, an ill-concealed manner of being somewhat overawed 
by his surroundings, and a coat frayed at the edges. 

“ Fm Mr. Thomas Mogley,” said this apparition. 

“ Ah ! Have a cigarette, Mr. Mogley ?” replied the dramatic editor, 
absently, lighting one himself. 

“ Thank you, sir. I was this evening, but am not now, the leading 

comedian of the company that played Wilkins’s ‘ Faust’ at the 

Theatre. I played Mephisto.” (He had begun his speech in a dig- 
nified manner, but now he spoke quickly and in a quivering voice.) 
“ I was a failure, — a very great failure ! My wife is extremely ill. 
If she knew I was a failure, it would kill her. So I told her I made 
a success. I have really never made a success in my life. She is sure 
to read your paper to-morrow. Will you kindly not speak of my fail- 
ure in your criticism of the performance? She cannot live later than 
to-morrow morning, and I should not like — you see — I have never 
deigned to solicit favors from the press before, sir, and ” 

“ I understand, Mr. Mogley. It’s very late, but I’ll see what I 
can do.” 

Mogley passed out, walking down the five flights of- stairs to the 
street, forgetful of the elevator. 

The dramatic editor looked at his watch. “ Half-past twelve,” he 
said ; then to a man at another desk, — 

“ Jack, I can’t come just yet. I’ll meet you at the club. Order 
devilled crabs and a bottle of Bass’ for me.” 

He ran up-stairs to the night editor. “ Mr. Horney, have you the 
theatre proofs? I’d like to make a change in one of the notices.” 

“ Too late for the first edition, my boy. Is it important?” 

“ Yes, an exceptional case. I’ll deem it a personal favor.” 

"All right. I’ll get it in the city edition. Here are the proofs.” 

“ Let’s see,” mused the dramatic editor, looking over the wet proofs. 

“ Who covered the Theatre to-night? Some one in the city 

department.. I suppose he ‘ roasted’ Gugley, or whatever his name is. 
Ah, here it is.” 

And he read, on the proof, — 

“ The revival of an ancient burlesque on ‘ Faust’ at the last 

night was without any noteworthy feature save the pitiful performance 
of the part of Mephisto by a doleful gentleman named Thomas Mog- 
ley, who showed not the faintest perception of humor, and who was 
tremendously guyed by a turbulent audience. Mr. Mogley was tem- 
porarily taking the place of William Renshaw, a fun-maker of more 
advanced methods, who will appear in the rdle to-night. There are 
some pretty girls and agile dancers in the company.” 

Which the dramatic editor changed to read as follows : 

“ The revival of a. familiar burlesque on ‘ Faust’ at the The- 

atre last night was distinguished by a decidedly novel and original em- 
bodiment of Mephisto by Thomas Mogley, a trained and painstaking 
comedian. His performance created an abundance of merriment, and 


A FRAGMENT. 


95 


it was the manifest thought of the audience that a new type of burlesque 
comedian had been discovered.” 

All of which was literally true. And the dramatic editor laughed 
about it later, over his bottle of white label at the club. 

By what power Mrs. Mogley managed to keep alive till morning I 
do not know. The dull gray light was stealing through the window 
into the little room as Mogley, leaning over the bed, held a fresh news- 
paper close to her face. Her head was propped up by means of pillows. 
She laughed through her tears. Her face was all gladness. 

“A new — comedian — discovered/’ she repeated. “Ah, Tom, at 
last ! This is what I lived for! I can die happy now. We’ve made 
a — great hit — Tom ” 

The voice ceased. There was a convulsion at her throat. Nothing 
stirred in the room. From the street below came the sound of a pass- 
ing car and a boy’s voice, “ Morning papers.” Mogley was weeping. 

The dead woman’s hand clutched the paper. Her face wore a 
smile. Robert Neilson Stephens. 


A FRAGMENT. 

D EEP in the vast of Hymer’s icy gorge, 

Ringed by the roar of Ran and all her waves 
Beating the stainless columns of the ice 
That hold the domes above the north wind’s home, 
And glass gray Gymer’s chilly eyes and brow, 

And all the frozen thickets of his beard 
Falling like snow around his wintry form, 

Fierce Loki stood alone. 

Seamed was his brow 
With hate and utter fear, but over all 
The rugged grandeur of his godhead old 
And kinship with the highest fitful shone, 

As shine across the dark the northern lights. 

Now did he seem like one of giant race, 

Vast as an iceberg, strong as granite stone, 

And now he crouched a dark-born mountain Alf, 

And glared, and thought, and, even with the thought, 
Grew snarling were-wolf, warder of the wild, 

Or fanged and venomed serpent, till his whim 
Would make him woman with a demon heart, 

Seducer of mankind. At times he grew 
Into the giant steed, and felt again 
The pain of Svadilfari’s fiery chase. 

Then at the last did come his godhead old, 

And on him fell his mighty human shape, 

Deadly and woful, but most beautiful. 

His set brows frowned above his fearful eyes, 
Enduring as the rock. 


Daniel L. Dawson. 


96 


WITH THE O LOVES. 


WITH THE GLOVES. 


(BOXING.) 


T HAT there is no new thing under the sun may be fairly questioned 
when one is called on to write a defence of tbe art of self-defence. 



At a time when Dr. 
Mackenzie, of London, is 
impelled to write an elabo- 
rate article on the use and 
abuse of athletics, for wide 
circulation, it will be well 
for persons who have made 
observations and had experi- 
ence in the different lines of 
physical effort to say some 
words about their work and 
its method, in order to assist 
other explorers in the same 
paths. 

It will be unnecessary to 
set forth, in any general way, 
the necessity for, and the 
beneficial effect of, regular 
and proper exercise. It is 
absolutely requisite for the 
well-being of man that he 
shall have a certain quan- 
tity of work, and this work 
should be systematized, ar- 
ranged, and practised regu- 
larly in order to receive the 
greatest benefit from it. 

The great remedies of 
nature are exercise, rest, air, 
and cleanliness. A just sys- 
tem of training will contain 
the proper use of all of these. 
The exercise one likes best, 
and that he finds most pleas- 
ure in, will be, of course, the 
best to choose; but it often 
happens that time and op- 
portunity cannot be had for 
the desired practice, and then 
one must take the means 
nearest to hand. 

To those who have only a moderate amount of leisure and oppor- 
tunity, boxing should commend itself before all other forms of work. 


WITH THE GLOVES 


97 


Any one who undertakes a course of training and exercise for the 
strengthening of his body and the effort to acquire proficiency must 
make up his mind to persevere and systematize his work, which must 
be regular beyond all other things. No one can expect to excel in 
any line of work without system, and it is absolutely essential in the 
exercise of boxing. If the effort made is spasmodic and irregular, 
the benefit gained one day is lost in the next, the body and mind have 
to make each new day the original violent effort, and the training and 
work are continually irksome and will produce no lasting benefit. 

All forms of exercise practised moderately are, of course, beneficial ; 
but certain forms, if persevered in violently, may develop the muscles 
exceedingly at the expense of the vital organs. The hundred-yard 
dash, pole-vaulting, heavy weight lifting, heavy dumb-bell raising, are 
injurious work when carried to excess. In fact, these and kindred ex- 
ercises should be practised as little as possible except in mild connection 
with other exercises. 

The heart and lungs must not be overstrained or jarred too violently. 
Light quick work rather than heavy violent work is best. The mus- 
cular development of the cart-horse does not compare with the steel 
sinews and muscles of the race-horse. I would advise, by all means, 
as much as possible, symmetrical development of the muscles. Ex- 
traordinary size of biceps is not so necessary as proportionate develop- 
ment of muscle. There have been gotten up many different methods 
of exercise, and among these one of the “ fads” has been what is called 
“ Swedish movements.” One of the first exponents of this system I 
ever met was a professional. By constant and finicky practice he had 
developed nearly every muscle in his body. Stripped, he looked enor- 
mously strong, but when an effort was required it was found that the 
very affluence of inferior, minor, and unnecessary muscles retarded 
rather than aided. 

Moral, do not develop the minor muscles. 

On one occasion, recently, I introduced an advocate of the Swedish 
movements to Mr. Fitzsimmons, the middle-weight champion of the 
world, and explained his athletic method. Mr. Fitzsimmons’s reply 
was simply, “So he thinks wind of no value?” 

Wind, or endurance of lung-power, is of far more value than 
muscular development, and, of course, any exercise that leaves lung- 
strengthening out is not of great service. 

In boxing, lung-endurance, or wind, is of the first importance. 
Temperance and regularity are essentials. No one but a man who 
leads a moral, regular, and cleanly life, at some portions of his career, 
can expect to become a great boxer. 

Any one, by attention to instructions, diet, temperance, and regu- 
larity, can acquire a fair knowledge of boxing, no matter what his 
size or strength, or lack of it, may be. It can be practised at any 
time and in any weather, winter or summer, and will strengthen the 
muscles and vital organs more gradually than any other work, giving 
firmness, flexibility, and agility to the body, and furnishing exercise to 
the mind and senses as well. 

To acquire a little knowledge of this art, or indeed any other e^ 
Vol. XLIX. — 7 


98 


WITH THE GLOVES. 


ercise, it would be well to begin soon after one is fifteen or sixteen 
years of age, as the muscles at that time are in need of regular exercise 
and will develop under the moderate and careful use of athletics as 
Almost any teaching master can give the earlier posi- 
tions, blows, and movements, and then it is easy to 
get some friend to box at school, college, or athletic 
club at proper times. 

For the benefit of those who may not have had 
the knowledge of the movements, I will give a de- 
scription of some few blows. 

The position should be taken easily and grace- 
fully, the muscles alert but relaxed, the left hand 
and foot advanced, and the left foot pointed nearly 
straight in front and at right angles to the right 
foot. The latter should be somewhat bent from the 
knee and held near enough to the left foot to brace 
it and the body and yet move with ease and strength. 
If any movement is made it is necessary to get the 
feet back again to this position as rapidly as possible. 
The left arm should be about a half-arm position, 
and the right hand should be held lightly over the 
breast, ready to hit or guard. 

The picture of John H. Clark, light-weight, on 
page 103, gives an excellent boxing position. 

At this point it may be well to state what con- 
stitutes the different divisions of boxers by weight. 

Bantam weight is seven stone, or ninety-eight 
pounds. Feather-weight is eight stone, or one hun- 
dred and twelve pounds. Light weight is nine and 
a half stone, or one hundred and thirty-three pounds. 
Middle weight is eleven stone, or one hundred and 
fifty-four pounds. Above one hundred and fifty- 
four pounds is heavy weight. Welter weight is a 
term borrowed from horse-racing, and means in light welter weight one 
stone above the scale, and in heavy welter weight twenty-eight pounds, 
or two stone, above the scale. The scale means weight for age in 
horse-racing, and varies from two years old to five years old and aged 
horses. 

The most vital spots on which a blow can be delivered are the edge 
of the jaw and the pit of the stomach. A blow on the latter is some- 
times fatal. The blow on the former is most generally used in four- 
round bouts. It need not be a very hard blow. A man can easily 
knock himself out by hitting himself smartly in the side of the jaw 
with his right hand. I have seen two men go out together, both swing- 
ing the right hand and landing at the same time. The knock-out blow 
is not necessarily painful. One is simply asleep for a little while. 

The rules under which boxing was practised for so many years 
were called “ London Prize-Ring Rules.” These rules permitted 
wrestling to a certain extent, but no hold could be taken below the 
waist. A ring twenty-four feet square was used in all contests. 



WITH THE GLOVES. 


99 

The lead or left high hit is done with the left hand, the left foot 
being advanced as far as possible, the body rising up on both toes, the 
head bending and turning to the right so as to avoid a cross-counter 
or swinging blow, and the body turning at right angles to the opponent, 
so that one gets ess 11 ’ 

half the width 
of his body with 
his reach. The 
left foot being 
raised on the toes 
and moving for- 
ward as the blow 
is delivered, will 
give the spring 
by which one can 
jump backward 
out of danger. 

Try to gain 
strength enough 
in the calves to 
be able to box 
all the time on 
the toes instead 
of on the flat of 
the foot. 

The left high - 
hit is the first 

blow taught in left high hit delivered, with guard for counter. 
boxing, and its 

variations are difficult. It takes years to acquire this blow in all its 
force and skill. The old-style boxers, such as the English of twenty- 
five years ago, practised this lead depending mainly on their quickness 
to avoid a return, keeping the head well up, and guarding the face 
little or none. It is needless to say that it would be folly to attempt 
the blow in that way in these days. 

The newer style of boxing, or what might be called the second 
period, came in with Jem Mace. It is the style now in use in Aus- 
tralia, though with many improvements, and has helped the people of 
that country to a number of victories in the ring. 

The last and best style of boxing is that practised by John H. 
Clark, Charles Mitchell, and, to a certain extent, Robert Fitzsim- 
mons, — although the latter bases his work on Mace’s tactics. 

At this point it should be evident that, no matter how much the 
body has to do in boxing, the mind must play no mean part. It is 
necessary to be a mind-reader to a certain extent to be a great boxer. 
Nor is this all : one must be able to divert and influence his opponent 
into the use of blows and into the proper position to receive the 
attack. 

A well-formed body, reasonable courage and endurance, a quick eye, 
a mind quick to act and think, and muscles strengthened by work and 



WITH THE GLOVES. 


100 

training, are requisite in boxing, and can be developed and acquired in 

' tS After^the left high hit is acquired, a guard for it in a number of 
ways may be learned. The two quickest ways are by turning or 
ducking the head to one side and by guarding with the right hand, 
turning it outward with the back of the gloves towards the face. All 
guards must be made by turning the hand away from the body firmly. 

All counters are done with 
the left hand ; all cross- 
counters with the right. 
Nearly all blows should be 
delivered as straight as 
possible in a line with the 
muscles of the closed hand. 

It will take a long 
time after the exercise of 
boxing is engaged in to 
ascertain or discern when 
an attack is being made 
on one. Some writers, 
journalists, and novelists 
writing on this subject 
have suggested that you 
should fix your eagle eye 
on your opponent and 
mesmerize him. If this 
method is tried persist- 
ently it may work for a 
round or two, but the 
eagle eye may get itself 
closed up. So, on the 
whole, I would respect- 
fully advise the avoidance of any attempt at mesmerism in boxing. In 
spite of newspapers, don’t try to hit any one in the jugular vein. Men 
have cut their throats and never touched that important blood-vessel, 
and it is just as well to let it alone. After one has boxed with a com- 
petent boxer for some months he will acquire an instinctive knowledge 
of an attack being made. Instinct is the thing on which the boxer 
places his reliance for intimations of au attack. This instinctive knowl- 
edge must be possessed by any one who wishes to become a good boxer ; 
and after it is acquired the further acquisition of boxing becomes ex- 
ceedingly easy. 

The great difference among great boxers is in the use of feints. 

Unless one is in play absolutely, he should never deliver a lead or 
other blow without a feint. A feint is of no value unless the blow fol- 
lows it immediately, except in cases where it is necessary to feint to divert 
an attack or to get out of a corner. It is simply waste of strength. 

The Fitzsimmons or Mace style of boxing is to wait for the oppo- 
nent’s attack and then make use of the attack to strike the opponent 
with a trick or counter-attack. 



BACK VIEW OF LEFT HIGH HIT. 


WITH THE GLOVES. 


101 

The Clark style is by feinting to create an attack for which there is 
a waiting counter-attack. 

The latter I think the best style, but of course exceedingly difficult 
to learn, as you must get your opponent to make a certain attack or 
else by feinting discover at what part of your body his next blow will 
be aimed. 

The space for magazine articles is so short that it is impossible to 
go into a detail of the different blows, guards, attacks, and tricks as 
practised by the great boxers of to-day. 

No blow in boxing must be struck below the waist. A line drawn 
above the hips around the body will give about the waist-mark. 

The rule as to time or rest in the London Prize-Ring rules made a 
round consist of the time during which both boxers stood on their 
feet. If a man went to his hands and knees, time was called, and a 
rest of thirty seconds was allowed. A round might last one second 
or ten minutes, and under these rules a contest might continue almost 
indefinitely ; in fact, some contests lasted two days. 

It is evident that a very skilful boxer by going to the ground 
often when in danger or in receiving punishment could prolong the 
contest to unreasonable and unnecessary limits, 
when boxing under the London Prize-Ring rules. 

It was only requisite that one should hit, and in 
the act of hitting he could fall, even a few seconds 
after starting a round, and so could get a half- 
minute’s rest after each fall. It became neces- 
sary, as the art of boxing developed, to find some 
rules under which the contest could be certainly 
brought within a reasonable time-limit. This 
need produced and made popular the famous 
Marquis of Queensberry rules. 

Under these rules new gloves must be used, 
and the boxers must contest for three minutes, 
with but one minute rest between the rounds, 
which were ordered to be four in number. There 
have been devised numerous variations from these 
rules, but the main rules as to time and number 
of rounds are generally retained. No clinching 
or wrestling is allowed ; and if a man fall to the 
ground, or be knocked down, his opponent must 
retire to his own corner and wait till his oppo- 
nent arise, if he can ; should the latter fail to 
arise at the call of time, after ten seconds have ^ 
expired the contest is awarded to the man on his high hit. 

feet. 

One great advantage of the Queensberry rules was the duration of 
the contest. This enabled the boxer to go in and fight far more rapidly 
than in a finish fight under the old rules, when, if he felt that he had 
a long contest before him, he would naturally reserve his force. In 
olden times the man who could endure punishment was regarded highly. 
To-day a boxer rather despises a man who has received very much 



WITH THE GLOVES. 


102 

punishment. The ability to defend has been learned to such an extent 
that a skilful boxer even after a long and hard match shows little or 

no sign of hurt. . i _ . . 

A boxer should enter into a contest first with the determination to 
win. He should not think, I must win in an hour, or two hours, or 

three; he should say to himself, 
I am here to win, and if it takes 
two days, or six, or a year, I pro- 
pose to stay during that period. 
Do not be too anxious. Let the 
other side wear itself out in vio- 
lent effort. Stay all the time. 

A swinging blow may be used 
at times with great success, but it 
must be practised carefully, as it 
not only exposes one more, but is 
also liable to injure the bones of 
the hand and arm. 

To acquire good bodily strength 
it is necessary to take other work 
besides mere boxing. Light dumb- 
bells used morning and evening 
quickly, Indian clubs, and a series 
of Swedish movements for the legs 
suggested by Professor Blaikie in 
his book on Athletics, which con- 
sist in rising up on the toes a great 
number of times to develop the 
calf and hip muscles, will all be 
found advantageous. 

The best exercise in this connection, besides walking, is half-mile 
running, which gives strength to both the lungs and the legs. Bathing 
is the most important of hygienic means of keeping the body in good 
shape and health. The ordinary cold bath should be used by people 
in good health and after reasonable exercise, but never in case the 
reaction is not sufficient or complete. If the health is not good, great 
care should be exercised in the use of the bath. If the health is excel- 
lent, the cold bath is very desirable at all seasons, but not on arising in 
the morning, unless in a warm room, and the reaction must be had. 

Russian baths are of great benefit in health. The steam room 
should first be visited for about ten minutes ; then a cold shower should 
be taken, then the steam room again ; then the rub should be had ; 
and then the steam room should be visited again, and a 'plunge or 
shower taken, or a shower alone. The hot room should not be used 
at all. 

An external alcohol rub after the Russian will assist the resistance 
to the possible effects of exposure after leaving the bath. 

As this article purports to be a defence of boxing, it may be well 
to mention some of the reasons why boxing should be more generally 
practised than it is. 



CROSS-COUNTER HIGH. 


WITH THE GLOVES. 


103 



There is no reason that any one should receive severe blows in the 
practice of boxing, as gloves of good size can be used ; and if one is 
fortunate enough to box with a great boxer he is as safe as though he 
were in a church, unless his conceit leads him to suppose that the time 
has arrived when he can 
give his preceptor a point 
or two ; and even then he 
may change his mind soon 
after. 

Boxing develops the 
body uniformly and 
strengthens the lungs, 
gives confidence, and as 
much as anything else 
shows a man his limita- 
tions. 

When a man has 
boxed with any great 
boxer, he realizes that 
other people can fight as 
well as himself, and that 
it is folly to waste effort 
in unnecessary quarrels. 

One learns to dis- 
criminate between a just 
and an unjust quarrel. 

No good boxer will get 
into a quarrel that he can 
possibly avoid. 

Further, should a 
quarrel be necessary, as 
it often is, he is fitted by 

training and practice to prof, john h. clark — boxing position. 
cope with one or more 

such persons as will put a quarrel on a man who wishes to avoid all 
trouble of that sort. 

Boxing seems to me to be the best of all exercises for mind and 
body. So far from being difficult, it may be learned by women as 
well as men. If more people were well skilled in this exercise, 
fewer weapons would be carried, and the mind of man would be 
developed more in the direction of the art of self-defence than in that 
of attack. . , _ _ 

TtiuMpl T, Dawson. 


104 


“ THE YOUNG GIRL ” 


“THE YOUNG GIRL.” 

I N common with all well-conditioned readers, I have a high respect 
for Mr. Marion Crawford. His faults are small beside his virtues ; 
but prominent among the former is the reckless way in which he tosses 
his Young Girls about. I do not mean that he treats his heroines with 
contumely — far from it ; nor yet that he exposes them to greater severi- 
ties and complications of ill fortune than may properly befall any 
heroine. The sin is in his driving to death an inoffensive adjective 
which has somehow, and most unadvisedly, got itself associated with a 
noun that does not need it. I forget whether it was seventeen or only 
seven times — but in either case it was far too often — that he once thought 
it necessary to assure us, on a single page, as to the juvenility of the 
estimable person whom he was then celebrating. And such is his gen- 
eral practice. Rarely by any chance does he speak of a Girl : unless 
she be off color, below par in rank and mind, or otherwise unattractive 
and unworthy of our regard (and such seldom appear under Mr. 
Crawford's management), she is always emphatically and explicitly a 
Young Girl. 

Nor is it Mr. Crawford alone who is guilty of this form of vain 
repetition. The practice has become so frequent among his colleagues 
that it is a positive relief to find Mr. Howells referring to his latest 
leading lady as Miss Aldgate, or simply as The Girl. “ The girl loved 
him “ the girl broke into sudden tears." This is manly, and direct, 
and sufficient ; there is no supererogation about it, no striving to paint 
the lily or rejuvenate youth. Would the love be any warmer, the tears 
more sudden or salt, if produced by a Young Girl instead of simply 
by a Girl ? Surely the loss of the superfluous epithet is wholly gain, 
since a Girl is of necessity young. Nobody speaks of “ a young boy 
and why not that as well as the other? Nor do we hear df Middle- 
aged Girls at all, nor of Old Girls except from jesters of the kidney 
of Full-Private James, who are given to jokes of doubtful taste. 
When a word has a fixed and definite meaning, it is made no clearer 
by a gloss ; nor is it laudable in writers of repute, who are supposed to 
settle or improve our lingual usages, to becloud and confuse them thus. 

It is not difficult to dip far enough into the novel-making mind to 
hit the probable motive of this tautologism. In Mr. Crawford, and, 
one may trust, in some of his brethren, it arises from a feeling of mis- 
taken chivalry. Not that the feeling is mistaken, but this particular 
expression of it is. They wish, as Christian gentlemen and advanced 
thinkers of these last years of the nineteenth century, to treat their femi- 
nine characters, who are usually admirable and delightful persons, with 
all due and possible respect ; and they are haunted by the lurking ghost 
of a brigandish notion that the word Girl is not sufficiently respect- 
ful. But why ? It is not the equivalent of Fellow. It is or should 
be as much on a par with Woman as the species can be with the genus. 
To be sure, there are those for whom Woman is not fine enough ; who 


“ THE YOUNG GIRL .” 


105 


must have their Salesladies, and presently their Washerladies, and who 
would ask this Lady if she will have this Gentleman to her wedded 
husband. To such there may well be a covert taunt or suspicion of 
belittling about plain “ Girl.” But, even so, it is hard to see how they 
mend the matter by lugging in the useless adjective, since Girl means 
simply a young unmarried woman. If they must struggle to be remote 
and superfine, they should say “ Young Lady,” and then explain as 
often as they think desirable that she has not yet changed her patro- 
nymic. 

Of course this is not exactly the trouble with the gentlemen (for, so 
far as I have observed, the ladies generally know better) who oppress 
us with their ever-recurring and never-ending Young Girls. Yet one 
may doubt whether they could define their difficulty more clearly. Can 
it be that they distrust our confidence in their veracity, or in that of 
their presumed informant, when we are assured that Clorinda is but 
seventeen, or nineteen as it may be ? One telling is as good as fifty, 
and anxious iteration can only induce the doubt it would allay. Sup- 
pose she is a wee bit older, we shall but think the worse of her for 
trying to conceal the fact. It was a former era that received with awe 
Miss Sinclair’s profound dictum that “ a woman’s reign is from seven- 
teen to twenty.” We would admit now that if a woman is extraor- 
dinarily beautiful, and witty, and wise, and amiable, and spirited, and 
tactful, and accomplished, and all the rest of it, her “ reign,” with her 
youth, may possibly last till twenty-five or so, even if she is not mar- 
ried ; that her not being a Mrs. does not positively prove that she never 
had an opportunity of becoming such ; that it is conceivable she may 
have a mind and a will of her own on this subject ; and so on. Or 
even supposing that Youth had a defined limit, say at twenty-two, or 
twenty, or what you please, and that it were settled beyond cavil that 
Dulcinea is on the safe side of this dead-line : why insist on the fact, as 
if it were something singular and momentous? Youth is a precious 
attribute, but it can scarcely be called rare, even in the case of Girls. 
Beauty and wealth (to go no further) are less common ; yet our novel- 
ists do not go on repeating, “ The Beautiful Girl,” or “ The Rich Girl.” 
Yet why not — when their heroines are happily thus endowed — if the 
other formula be correct? Even if it were not an inalienable mark of 
the class to which she belongs, and from which she can be removed 
only by the fatal stroke of Time or Matrimony, it seems but a small 
thing to make a fuss about, this mere every-day fact that a Girl is 
Young. 

The Young Girl has a congener, who might be open to equal objec- 
tion except that he is somewhat less familiar in our approved literature, 
of which he rather hangs on the outskirts than forms an integral part, 
— the Strong Man. He is usually found in tears, or in prayer, or other- 
wise under the temporary dominion of some emotion yet stronger than 
himself. Sometimes there is a number of him, as at a revival or the 
like, when the wave of feeling easily spreads; but he can play his part 
just as well singly. It seems to be considered that his physical con- 
dition makes his tears and prayers specially notable, and that it is very 
good and rather condescending in a muscular person to yield to the 


106 


AT DAWN . 


ordinary stirrings of humanity, and be sorry when a friend dies or a 
battle is lost, just as if there were less of him by three inches and 
twenty pounds. Is not this a little unfair to the undersized and un- 
practised, not to say the dyspeptics and consumptives? Or, rather, is 
it not unfair to the Strong Man himself? He has just as good a right 
to be impressed by pathetic incidents or exciting news as the Weak Man 
has. As a matter of fact, endowments of the body are not known to 
have any remarkable influence on those of the heart: the gymnasium 
and the boating-club are less likely to put a stopper on the flow of feel-* 
ing than are social training and mental culture, which affect the Strong 
Man and his feeble brother pretty much alike. Not to put too fine a 
point upon the argument, the Strong Man is mere clap-trap, and those 
who use him probably know it, but trust that their readers are not so 
well posted, or will not stop to think whether he has any meaning or 
not. He may do to tickle the ears of the groundlings, but he is several 
pegs below our best writers, and thus happily a back number in real 
literature. 

The Young Girl is not clap-trap. If one is driven to characterize 
her, it must be as a small piece of imbecility, due to the momentarily 
arrested mental action or imperfect cerebration of her producers. Those 
who still parade and patronize her boneless appearances simply “ didn’t 
think when they take the trouble to consider, they will soon reform 
this abuse. Adjectives are useful tools, not to be flung about aimlessly, 
any more than verbs and nouns. They should be left to repose peace- 
fully in the dictionary till they are wanted, and then put in only where 
they fit. Frederic M. Bird. 


AT DAWN. 

E ACH leaf, another wakening, sighs, 

“ Sweet sister, it is day ! 

The last night-blooming glory dies, 

And wheresoe’er a petal lies, 

The east grows warm and gray. 

“ The birds are still asleep ; and yet, 

Amid the silent throng, 

Like dusky vapors that beget 
The dew, dream-winged shades have set 
The germs of heavenly song.” 

John B. Tabb. 
















THE INTERPRETER. 


107 


THE INTERPRETER. 

(SIDNEY WOODDETT.) 

I N my study hangs an engraving of Alma Tadema’s picture “ A 
Reading from Homer.” On a semicircular divan of white marble, 
in the open air of Greece, sit or recline three or four figures, one of 
them such a woman as only Tadema can portray. A youth, crowned 
with laurel, and half swathed in a white toga, leans forward with a 
scroll outspread between his extended hands. His lips are parted, his 
face kindles ; you can almost hear the sonorous Greek roll forth in 
melodious rhythm on the balmy stillness of the afternoon. His audi- 
ence is rapt : the eyes of all are fixed upon the reader, but they see, 
not him, but the scene which he interprets. Both audience and speaker 
have forgotten themselves : they are before the walls of windy Troy ; they 
behold Hector and the great Achilles ; the divine gods brighten through 
the cloud ; then come the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. 

In those old days, before books, poems and romances were carried 
in the memory, and were uttered with the living voice to eager ears. 
We hardly realize the situation. Backward three thousand years in 
the abysm of time, we had no shelves of volumes, we never read a 
page or wrote a line, our conceptions of the creations of genius were 
not vulgarized and materialized by association with print and paper. 
They were born for us through the noble modulations of the human 
voice, and were vivified by the flushing of the cheek, by the bending of 
the brow, by the sweeping arm and speaking hand. Thus they leaped 
full-panoplied into the regions of the imagination, out of which they also 
came ; and poetry, to the ancient Greek, meant a very different thing 
from what the sagacious modern critic understands by that term. He 
speaks of the iambic tetrameter acatalectic, and thinks of feet and 
accents; the Greek knew only a joy of the ear, an ecstasy of the soul. 
Between the analytic and the creative attitude the gulf is just as wide 
as that between death and life. The heroic hexameters of Homer were 
the spontaneous expression of emotion and temperament; his words 
must needs marshal themselves thus, and not otherwise ; the half-savage 
majesty of his conception naturally incarnated itself in this garb, and 
trod to this measure. A modern poet will go the other way about : in 
the effort to give an appearance of dignity to his ideas, he w’ill take 
his dividers and his hand-book and point off his lines into the requisite 
lengths. The ass in the lion’s skin. I shall indicate, presently, how 
the analytic method as applied to the verbal delivery of verse is open 
to a like objection. 

It is hardly too much to say that the art of reading ( not aloud, but 
to one’s solitary self) has taken away from the human race as much 
happiness as it has bestowed upon it. It has led to the endless multi- 
plication of vapid and redundant trash, and to our diligent assimilation 
of the same; it has associated the idea of noble verse with printed 
pages, and has even influenced the poets themselves, so that no one now 
can write as Homer sang, because our contemporary Homers know that 


THE INTERPRETER. 


108 

they are literary men, whereas the great, blind, innocent Homer never 
for a moment suspected such a thing of himself. He had the faculty of 
impassioned speech, that was all, but it was always speech, the telling 
of something to one man by another. Once spoken, it was gone, save 
that the fresh memories of those days would let nothing beautiful 
escape them, and what Homer uttered could not die. Nowadays the 
poet thinks of editions, of presentation copies, of wide margins, of 
bindings. Nowadays fools can buy him and lock him up in a glazed 
book-case. But in the old times no one could have Homer who did 
not deserve to have him ; if the stately verses went in at one ear and 
out at the other, it was because there was nothing in the space between 
worth their staying for. While as for the poet, his poem was himself, 
and it was nothing else : it was his highest self. There was nothing 
between him and his auditor. There were no publishers, in short. 

However, we are destined to pass through certain valleys in our 
pilgrimage. We are still deep in this valley of volumes and perusals 
and publishers : we shall escape at last, but whether soon or late, who 
can tell ? Meanwhile we have actors, and platform readers and 
reciters, and quasi-impromptu speakers, small and big, down to the 
ward heeler mounted on his ash-barrel. There have always been 
speakers; and the Oriental improvisatores, though lacking the se- 
verity and reticence of the Homeric reciter, is yet a poor relation 
by blood-inheritance. As for the actors, they have a hard time of 
it ; it is a marvel they do so well : each one is at the mercy of all 
the others, and all are in bonds to the text. The art of writing good 
stage dialogue is still inchoate : it must be natural ; and yet when it is 
natural it is beneath the dignity of the drama, and must be elevated 
again to the proper pitch. Manifestly, the stage is not to blame for 
this, but the world of society, which is too loquacious and frivolous, 
and lives without regard to the compensations, keeping, and culmina- 
tions of art. Only the esoteric essence of our life is now fit for dramatic 
representation ; and the dramatists who can see and adequately portray 
that essence are — shall we say, he is ? — not numerous. Yes, the stage is 
in difficulties. 

There remains the public reader or reciter. This personage inspires 
terror similar to that which attends the advent of the book-agent. The 
latter, in private life, is probably an agreeable man ; and why not the 
reciter, too ? The trouble with them is, they are (in the practice of 
their trade) in a false position. The book-agent feels no real enthusiasm 
for his book : he has never read it, but he knows it must be trash, else 
the publisher would not go these lengths to get rid of it. The reciter 
is a peculiar creature : he is a skilled mechanic erecting himself in the 
shoes of genius; it is his business to make you believe that the genius 
in question would have stood and spoken thus. That is where his 
skilled mechanism comes in. Let us examine him more closely. 

There was a man named Delsarte. A man more fatally plausible 
has seldom visited this planet. More people have made fools of them- 
selves through his influence than he could have counted during his life- 
time. His principle was admirable : let the body express the mind. 
To do that, the body must be in subjection to the will. No involuntary 


THE INTERPRETER. 


109 


movements. Every thought, impulse, emotion, must have its appro- 
priate movement, expression, gesture, better suited than any other to 
its portrayal. What we have to do, is to fit the action to the word — as 
the word is already supposed to be fitted to the thought or emotion — 
from the beginning to the end of the chapter. A thorough and in- 
telligent training is therefore indispensable. Having classified all the 
qualities of mind and heart, note the manner in which the body natu- 
rally responds to their stimulation, and train yourself to produce these 
responses correctly and instantly, at the fiat of the will. By untiring 
diligence and sleepless vigilance you may at length complete your dic- 
tionary, which for every word of the spirit gives the corresponding 
physical symbol. Modulations of the voice are, of course, included in 
these gymnastics. When all is done, your hitherto stiff and disobedient 
body will have become an organized eloquence: it will not only accu- 
rately express anything you feel, but it will go through the motions 
independent of the feeling. You may appear to the spectator to be 
all on fire with emotion, while in fact you are as it were asleep, or 
repeating the multiplication-table. 

This is Delsartism. Is it not a good thing? Poison is a good 
thing, taken in reasonable doses. Koch’s lymph cures lupus. Arsenic, 
up to a certain point, gives you a good complexion. Exercise, properly 
used, is excellent for mind and body. To have the body under the 
control of the will is excellent. Grace — the sense of balance and pro- 
portion in movement — is admirable. If you tumble out of a three-story 
window, it may serve you in good stead to have learned how to “ let 
yourself go.” The man who cannot control every muscle and group 
of muscles in his body is, in so far, a cripple. 

But Delsartism does not stop here ; and every step it takes beyond 
this is a step amiss. As soon as it aims to enable the body to supplant 
the spirit, it aims wrong. It mistakes its office every time it specifies 
a particular movement as the proper expression of a particular feeling. 
What is wanted is, not a dictionary, but an alphabet. I believe (but 
I am subject to correction here) that the Chinese have no alphabet : 
they make a separate figure for each word. Chinese is a Delsartian 
language. The indispensable things in true expression are the very 
things that Delsartism cannot give : they are spontaneity, sincerity, and 
individuality. The last is not the least important. JSTo two people 
can express a given feeling in the same way. In the first place, the 
feeling itself is never the same in both, — nay, it is never twice the 
same in either. Secondly, the necessity that Delsartism is under of giving 
one formula for all persons obliges every one of those persons to be more 
or less false in his action. Some people laugh when they are amused; 
others look particularly solemn. Some people stare and tremble when 
they are frightened; others laugh. Which is right? The question is 
obviously absurd. Anything is right that is spontaneous and inevitable 
to the particular subject of the experiment. But may not an actor or 
a reciter “ identify himself ” with an imaginary alien character? To 
be sure he may ; that is precisely his function. But his conception of 
that character must be his own conception ; and, whatever it be, Delsarte 
can only deaden, never vivify, his interpretation of it. 


110 


THE INTERPRETER. 


I do not care to dwell longer on this point : I have said enough to 
make Delsartians indignant, and to indicate to sane persons the line of 
argument, which they can follow out for themselves. It is a stupid 
subject, unless you make fun of it ; and my present purpose is serious. 

What the reciter (we are not to discuss actors as such) — what the 
reader or reciter wants is to move his audience with his own emotion. 
Some men, good sparrers, get thrashed in a fight with a rough-and- 
tumble fellow. It is contrary to law and order, but it will sometimes 
happen. Sometimes, too, a man wholly untrained in Delsartism, or 
even in ordinary elocution, will move you to tears or make you faint 
with laughter, contrary to all rules. Did you ever hear Artemus Ward 
deliver his lecture? Probably you have never heard Tennyson recite 
“ Maud” or “ Morte d’Arthur.” Neither of these gentlemen knew 
anything about Delsarte. Their methods are all wrong. But the 
spirit, the feeling — it is unique, never to be forgotten. You go away 
convinced, satisfied. You have experienced something real. You de- 
spise Delsarte ever afterwards. Or, did you ever hear a mother ask a 
fireman to go into a burning house to get her child ? There is sin- 
cerity there, but voice, gesture, expression, are barbarous. At the mo- 
ment, however, you do not observe this : you are with the mother, 
heart and soul. 

Strong, hearty, intense emotion is the electric stimulus that carries 
all with it. It is a substitute for all else, and without it nothing else 
avails. This is not to say that eloquent gestures and sympathetic tones 
do not enhance true sentiment and feeling ; it is to say that, of the two, 
it is the latter and not the former that are indispensable. Accustom 
your body to do your bidding, by all means ; cultivate breath and voice 
to give true utterance to what the spirit moves ; but avoid the fatal 
habit of putting forward the show when the informing soul is not be- 
hind it. To do so is the mark, not of the artist, but of the artisan and 
charlatan. The artisan imitates, and talks as the parrot talks : the 
artist interprets and creates; he is never twice the same. Alas! how 
wearisome are the tricks that we know to be tricks ! — and we do know 
it, be they performed never so cunningly. But how refreshing and in- 
spiring is the word rank from the heart, tingling with life and convic- 
tion, never till now revealed, like gold from the mine ! It comes from 
a man, not from an automaton. It can be heard only here and now, 
for it is uttered not by talent, but by genius. The finest quality of all 
is al ways the unexpected, the indescribable, the inimitable quality ; and 
this is born of immediate inspiration. The cultivation, the study, the 
labor, that the artist has brought to his work may not be less than 'that 
of the artisan ; it may be more. But it is on a higher plane ; it aims 
at nobler results ; it does not contemplate doing without the soul, but, 
on the contrary, leaves to the soul the greatest effort : that must be' fore- 
most, let what will come next. Like the artisan, the artist speaks 
words that have been committed to memory ; but he does not permit 
his memory to stand apart from himself. He fuses himself and it in 
one act of impassioned utterance, and thus the words become indeed 
his own, by right of marriage in art. 

Let me leave generalities and bring forward a concrete illustration. 


THE INTERPRETER. 


Ill 


There is a reciter, as he calls himself, — an interpreter, as I prefer to 
call him, — who has been before our public for more than twenty years. 
Sidney Woollett, to my thinking, stands at the head of interpreters of 
English poetry. Nature has given him a sympathetic voice, of unusual 
power and compass; a countenance good to look upon, manly, har- 
monious, and sensitive ; a slender and graceful figure; a quick, appre- 
ciative spirit. He has given himself a cultivated mind, a memory 
stored with the richest specimens of English poetry, a lofty ambition, 
and thorough technical training. 

Mr. Woollett walks on the stage, and the stage ceases to seem like 
a stage, but immediately appears like a drawing-room. This, in itself, 
is a remarkable feat, and, for aught I know, Mr. Woollett may himself 
be unconscious that he performs it. A chair and a table are in the 
centre of the room : he stands by these, and confronts us with the air 
at once cheerful, serious, and thoughtful of a man of the world and a 
scholar. 

He tells us, in a quiet, conversational tone, what he is going to do ; 
and then, after a moment’s pause, he proceeds to do it. And now the 
second feat or phenomenon occurs : Mr. Woollett disappears. We are 
looking straight at him, — and he is, as has been intimated, a very agree- 
able object of contemplation, — but we cease to see him. Why is this ? 
I suppose it may be because we cannot give our attention to two things 
at once. Mr. Woollett is himself deeply interested in what he is re- 
citing ; he is not in the least interested in or solicitous about his own 
person ; and he constrains us to adopt his attitude. As the theme 
evolves itself before the eyes of our imagination, the speaker vanishes : 
he is so completely in harmony with what he is saying — his own out- 
lines, we might say, become so merged in those of his subject — that he 
seems to be absorbed into it. We never say “how beautifully he does 
it,” but “how beautiful it is.” Mr. Woollett makes himself the me- 
dium through which the impression, the picture, the sentiment, reaches 
us ; and he will be nothing more. He is as the violin in the master’s 
hands; when the bow strikes the strings, bow, violin, master, all pass 
in music out of sight. 

By no ingenious movement, by no startling vocal acrobatism, by no 
laboriously finished “ impersonation,” does he for one moment recall us 
from the poem to himself. He is in movement always, if you compel 
yourself to investigate the matter ; and you can perceive that his mind 
is most sensitively alive to each change and transition in the drama; 
but the physical signs by which he indicates this are so slight that we 
can scarcely say in what they consist. They are all-sufficient, because 
they are in the right direction ; but they are strictly subordinated to the 
metaphysical part. In no respect is Mr. Woollett an acrobat: he is a 
man of taste and feeling, and a gentleman. When I see a fellow get on 
the stage and in the course of ten or fifteen minutes pretend to be half a 
dozen different people, — now roaring and stamping as the villain, now 
pleading and mincing as the woman, now giggling and mouthing dia- 
lect with the peasant, now pompous and short-winded with the judge, — 
of course I know that he is a humbug, and is feloniously attempting to 
involve my sympathies in a matter in which he himself is unconcerned. 


112 


THE OUDEWIFE. 


The more skilfully he does it, the greater is the insult both to common 
sense and to art.' But when a man like Sidney Woollett appeals to 
me, as one man to another, with no pretence of doing anything that 
any gentleman in a drawing-room may not legitimately and naturally 
do, — when he shows me meanings and beauties that I had not before 
appreciated, — when, instead of stripping the subject stark naked, as the 
Delsartians do, he envelops it in the deep artistic atmosphere the absence 
of which is vulgarity,— when, in short, he never exceeds the tone or 
the action that men in society employ to convey their meaning to one 
another, and yet contrives to so interest, captivate, melt, and thrill me 
that an hour and a half passes like five minutes, — then, of course, I 
know that I have been listening to a man of genius and of sincerity, 
who takes me nowhere that he does not go himself, who has felt what 
he makes me feel, and who loves Art so truly as to sink himself and 
give her the prominence and the glory. 

That is the sort of interpreter Mr. Woollett is. I wish there were 
more of his sort ; but I do not know of any others. He has the whole 
fantastic army of Delsartian charlatans arrayed against him ; but I 
believe that intelligent" people show by their attendance at his recita- 
tions that they know and are thankful for a genuine and good thing 
when, once in a generation or two, they get it. 

Julian Hawthorne. 


THE GUDEWIFE. 

M Y gudewife — she that is tae be — 

O she sail seeme sang-sweete tae me 
As her ain croon tuned wi’ the chiel’s 
Or spinnin’-wheel’s. 

An’ faire she’ll be an’ saft an’ light 
An’ muslin’-bright 
As her spick apron, jimpy laced 
The-round her waiste. — 

Yet aye as rosy sail she bloome 
Intil the roome 

(The where alike baith bake an’ dine) 

As a full-fine 

Ripe rose, lang rinset wi’ the raine, 

Sun-kist againe ; 

Sail seate me at her table-spread, 

White as her bread, — 

Where I, sae kissen her for grace , 

Sail see her face 

Smudged, yet aye sweeter, for the bit 
O’ floure on it, 

Whiles, witless, she sail sip wi’ me 
Luve’s tapmaist-bubblin’ ecstasy. 

James Whitcomb Riley, 


A ONES HUNTINGTON. 


113 


AGNES HUNTINGTON. 

H ER present triumphs and the brilliant possibilities of her future 
in the song-world entitle Agnes Huntington to more than passing 
mention. As an artist she has done much for her art, and English 
opera is greatly her debtor for its advancement to a higher plane. An 
American girl, proud of her country, her country is no less proud of 
her achievements. In social life Miss Huntington is seen even to 
greater advantage than upon the stage. To a commanding presence 
and clear-cut classic face she adds a charming personality and mag- 
netism, and to a liberal education, an experience gained by European 
travel that renders an interview with her most interesting. Under all 
circumstances she is of the same equable temperament, always acces- 
sible to every one seeking her either from business motives or congratu- 
latory desire, from the most humble member of her company to the 
greatest in it : her early trials have not soured her, and her triumphs 
have not spoiled her. 

The history of her life comprises but few chapters, and, short though 
they be, they add only another illustration to the fact that natural talent 
developed by application and industry leads inevitably to success. Miss 
Huntington’s girlhood was passed in the city of New York, where she 
was educated at a private school under the best tutors. Her rich con- 
tralto voice, not only noticeable in girlhood but a subject for wonder, is 
remarkable in its strength and beauty, and is inherited from her mother. 
Both from her own predilection and at the advice of earnest friends, 
who foresaw the great future before her, Miss Huntington decided to 
adopt the stage as a profession. 

Vocation, adaptability, talent, and, above all, the years of patient 
industry required to educate one for the greatest of all arts, the expres- 
sion of the human passions, are matters not always fully realized nor 
adequately considered. 

The drawbacks and trials of her adopted profession, as well as its 
promised glories, were fully considered by Miss Huntington, and she 
determined to begin properly the training necessary to fit her for the 
position to which she aspired. She went to Dresden, where, under the 
greatest maestro of this day, she began her four years’ musical course. 
“ If I had indulged in any vanity regarding my musical talent, founded 
upon my two years’ musical instruction in America,” she said, smilingly, 
“ my maestro, G. B. Lamperti, scattered it like snow-flakes on a windy 
wintry day, when he gravely assured me, on my vocal examination, 
that I at least had acquired no bad vocal habits, and that my voice was 
in a fair condition for rapid development. If I had much to learn, I 
had nothing to unlearn. I was in this respect better off than many, 
and there was consolation in this fact.” 

a These years of preparation,” continued Miss Huntington, “ were 
no child’s play. They were years of constant and hard work, and of 
the many who began with me few remained the four years. I do not 
Vol. XLIX. — 8 


114 


AGNES HUNTINGTON. 


now begrudge one moment I spent in the laborious study of vocal 
technique. The benefits I have derived from my patience and labor 
have been too numerous to detail.” 

How faithfully and diligently Miss Huntington worked in Dresden 
is evident not only from the high position she has attained almost at a 
bound, but from the close and conscientious attention to every detail 
which characterizes her course as the leading star on the English oper- 
atic stage. At the close of her musical course she appeared in concert 
in different cities in Germany, in Paris, and in London, winning at 
once most favorable notice and receiving everywhere the strongest en- 
dorsements of her worth. It was her intention to become a member 
of a grand opera company, either German or Italian, both of which 
languages she speaks and sings fluently, but by a seemingly fortuitous 
incident her plan was changed, and she adopted English opera, the 
school she has so much advanced and adorned. When Miss Hunting- 
ton returned to America she found English opera in full vigor and 
favor, and after her appearance in one or two concerts, her dramatic 
ability and high musical culture being at once recognized, she received 
the most advantageous offers from alert managers of English opera, 
who recognized her worth. Such was the advent of Miss Huntington 
upon the English operatic stage, four years ago. 

Her first season was with the Boston Ideals, the next with the Bos- 
tonians, in which she visited the principal cities of the United States 
and Canada, appearing in the leading rdles of the standard operas, for 
which her commanding presence and contralto voice eminently fitted 
her, and when on the evening of January 14, 1889, she made her 
London appearance in “ Paul Jones,” the London papers proclaimed 
her d&but a success unequalled by any singer of modern times, and 
her vocal efficiency, charming voice, and finished style the most nota- 
ble acquisition to the English operatic stage they had welcomed in 
many years; aud on the three-hundredth representation of “Paul 
Jones” the same papers united in saying that “ Miss Huntington made 
a hit to begin with, and gained ground every time she repeated the 
part.” Miss Huntington received honors and gifts from the highest 
and noblest, and from the richest and poorest ; and some of the sweet- 
est and most touching of her experiences during her stay in London 
were the letters and souvenirs signed “ from your friends in the pit” 
and “from girls in a work-room,” and embroideries and laces made 
by nurses in hospitals while watching by the bedsides of their patients. 
She says these letters are put away with those from the great and 
distinguished, whose names are familiar to all, who sent their tributes 
of admiration. Miss Huntington says she can always hear the cheers 
and see the faces of the hundreds who gathered around her carriage 
at the stage door, and shall never forget her pleased embarrassment 
to find bunches of flowers tied to the handle of her carriage door, and 
the interior so filled with flowers that she and her mother and maid 
had to fill their arms with the fragrant offerings before they could sit 
down. Another pleasant memory was the frequent visits of wedding 
parties, as it became the fashion for them to conclude the evening at 
“ Paul Jones.” And on those evenings her carriage was filled with 


AGNES HUNTINGTON. 


115 


bouquets whose predominating color was white. Among her most 
cherished treasures are books of poems written by different celebrated 
poets, which she has had beautifully illuminated and bound in white 
vellum. 

When Miss Huntington’s year in London was finished, she deter- 
mined to become a star and produce her own operas. Under the 
management of Mr. Marcus Mayer she began her career as a star last 
season in “ Paul Jones” in New York, and she could have selected no 
better production. She asserts that her short experience convinces her 
that the public have grown tired of coarse fuu and vulgarity and will 
patronize opera comique that is clean and pure, with a story to tell, a 
consistent plot to unfold, and ennobled with good music and well-con- 
certed orchestration, and that her ventures are made upon this assump- 
tion ; and so far she has not been mistaken in her premises. 

The laudable ambition of Miss Huntington as a caterer of operatic 
productions for the entertainment of the public leads her to constant 
novelty and progressiveness, and as a result she is presenting during 
the present season Planquette’s latest work, “ Captain Th6r$se.” As 
Miss Huntington personally superintends all of her own productions 
in every detail, the amount of labor which devolves upon her may be 
imagined, and her own description of her work in this respect may 
prove interesting. 

“ In every production,” she says, “ the most careful regard must be 
paid to historical unity and accuracy. The time, the place, and the 
scene represented, as well as the costumes and properties, must all corre- 
spond in detail to produce a perfect combined effect. I select my scenic 
designs and costumes from plates and paintings of the scene and time 
represented. The properties are modelled after antiques. These are 
all preliminaries, however. The selection and rehearsal of a company 
are the most exacting demands, and when the company is a large one, 
aggregating upwards of sixty people, the task is the most trying one 
imaginable. I recall the hot sultry days of last September, when we 
were rehearsing ‘ Captain Th6r£se.’ When every one who could afford 
it was at sea-shore or mountain retreat, in a hot, stifling, empty theatre 
by day and night I was rehearsing with my company, striving to ob- 
tain perfection out of seeming chaos. Musical bars and passages 
would be slurred, involving endless repetition, and details would be 
forgotten, only to be repeated without end.” 

In all her travels Miss Huntington is accompanied by her mother, 
who has proved her best friend and adviser, and between the two 
there exists ihe utmost devotion. With her company Miss Hunting- 
ton is deservedly popular. If she is a strict disciplinarian, she is 
also generous, and the slightest complaint of any wrong or oversight 
finds her always a willing listener and quick to rectify any error. On 
the occasion of the disbandment of her company last season, a list was 
presented to her of the fines inflicted upon several of the members 
during its continuance for tardiness and oversights. In some cases 
these amounted to considerable sums. She generously remitted every 
fine, paid her company in full, and re-engaged its best members on the 
spot. 


116 


ON A BLIND GIRL. 


Not the least drag upon her time is correspondence involved in 
answers to the many letters she receives from girls about to adopt the 
stage, asking her advice regarding the qualifications necessary and the 
best means of procuring engagements. These letters she feels it a duty 
to answer. She encourages none with false hopes, but represents the 
trials and labors of stage life fully and clearly, so that the frivolous 
are deterred, while the truly ambitious are encouraged. Most careful 
and painstaking in every effort, she abhors nothing so much as sham, 
and will not tolerate meretricious advertising or any tricks of the 
trade, so often resorted to by actors for the sake of notoriety. She 
trusts entirely to the excellence of her productions, upon which she 
spares no expense in staging, and in which her entire fortune is in- 
vested, and to her own merit, for recognition and patronage. She has 
in her efforts shown English op6ra comique to be a high grade of 
entertaining amusement ; she has lived a life without reproach, and her 
artistic merits have won for her a success in her own country quite equal 
to that she won in England. 

J F. R. 


ON A BLIND GIRL . 

O H, blame me not for loving her ! — 
You have not seen her eyes ; 

You have not felt her warm heart stir 
When taken by surprise ; 

You have not felt her little hands 
Go stealing through your hair ; 

And so — and so, you cannot know 
How sweet she is and fair ! 

Oh, blame me not ! Oh, blame me not ! 

You have not heard her sighs, 

Nor seen the blue in her wide two 
And speechless tender eyes ; 

You do not know how soft she is. — 
How far we are apart ; 

And, oh — and, oh, you do not know 
How she sleeps in my heart ! 


John Ernest McCann. 


CONSOLATION FOR THE UGLY GIRLS. 


117 


CONSOLATION FOR THE UGLY GIRLS. 

“ A Plea for the Ugly Girls, by One of them,” in a recent number of Lip- 
pincott’s , was a piquant and interesting little article, but it left a great deep 
unsounded. 

The gift of personal beauty is unquestionably one of the high prizes in a 
woman’s life, but the life of her counterpart man is so complex, his needs are 
so many-sided, that in some situations he is led to appreciate a cabbage a good 
deal more than he does a rose. 

Nor is female beauty an exact science, figured out by measurement after the 
Venus de’ Medici or de Milo; not only national but individual standards vary ; 
what is beautiful to a Chinese mandarin is ugly to the gilded youth of Gallic or 
Celtic race ; and Dr. Johnson’s “ Tetty,” always “ a pretty creature” through 
the glasses tinted by his own fond fancy, was, according to the verdict of his 
friends, a coarse-looking, painted dowager, old enough to be his mother. 

Imagination is such a potent factor in love, that if a man admires a tiny 
foot its possessor often borrows from her extremities a general comeliness of 
person in his opinion. Another, like “ Althea’s” Lovelace, may be entangled 
in a damsel’s hair, or “ fettered by her eyes,” and straightway forget a big nose, 
clumsy ears, a sallow skin, even all these disadvantages combined, and consti- 
tuting positive homeliness to casual observers.' 

Most ugly girls have something pretty about them, and the few who know 
that they cannot claim even this limited endowment become pathetic to men of 
a generous mind, exciting pity, and we all know what pity is akin to under 
favorable conditions. I recall a maiden of this stamp who secured a handsome 
and devoted husband by her very hopelessness of winning his preference, by 
the tender humility of her worship of himself. Living in the same house, the 
constant appeal to his chivalry became more powerful at last than all the varied 
charms of other women he might have won. 

Ugly girls, however, generally carry their consolation with them in a 
blessed unconsciousness of their want of good looks; have we not all seen them 
stand before a mirror noting the effect of a color or a new fashion, with an 
undisguised expression of admiration on their faces ? — very much like the ugly 
young man who ties his cravat and smiles at his image in the glass with the 
comforting mental comment, “ Not handsome, but devilish fascinating 1” 

The statement that “ ugly girls are generally left to run to waste, as unap- 
propriated blessings,” is not supported by evidence : who has not met wives as 
ugly as any old maid in his list of acquaintances? It is safe to make the broad 
generalization that an ugly girl, all other things being equal, is likely to have 
fewer offers than a pretty girl, but quite as likely to receive the one offer which 
will make her a happy wife. It may be doubted whether a plurality of lovers 
is an unmixed advantage to a girl ; one good lover, the elect man, attracted to 
her by affinity in its highest sense, is forever enough. 

But all other things (save the gift of beauty) seldom are equal between the 
ugly and the pretty girl : by the natural law of compensation the ugly girl has 
either some inherent or some acquired quality that is lacking in the other, which 
asserts its charm as acquaintance progresses. Beauty only has the start in the 


race. 


118 


CONSOLATION FOR THE UGLY GIRLS. 


The ttte-h-tbte drives in the Park and free seats at the theatre mentioned 
in the “ Plea” as the special prerogative of pretty girls are fast becoming un- 
fashionable among the higher classes in our large cities, the complexities of 
advancing civilization presenting obstacles to freedom and obligations of this 
kind. 

The ugly girl often has superior tact and finesse. Being obliged to study 
human nature closely in order to get the most out of it, she learns so well how 
and when to speak delicate flattery that she ends by convincing the man who 
scarcely noticed her on the evening when they were introduced, that the lips 
which can utter such bewitching things are really beautiful ; for somebody has 
said — I cannot give the authority for the quotation — that men are vain. 

Propinquity oftenest decides attachments of every kind ; if a city man had 
to spend a winter in a Cape Cod village with a homely but pleasant girl, he 
would be more likely to find himself in love with her by spring than with the 
pretty and pleasant girl he left in Boston when he went to Cape Cod. 

An ugly girl has a firm grip, generally speaking : she is not sated with 
admiration, or confident when she gets it that it will be perennial, so she does 
not let chances give her the slip, after the fashion of many belles. When once 
married she has [plenty of grit, too, to protect her lawful property and to dis- 
tance the pretty and unscrupulous flirts who would try their wiles on him. 

It is questionable, after all, if a woman’s beauty or homeliness makes much 
difference to a man after he has been married to her a year : does he even know 
how she looks ? He sees her inner nature, and the happiness of the couple is 
decided by the effect of their inner natures upon each other. Many a man with 
a pretty wife has been infatuated with the society of a very plain looking 
woman who possessed either intelligence or some power of adaptation he 
missed in his partner. 

The clever pleader for ugly girls says, “Suppose Grover Cleveland’s too 
ample girth of waist had kept him out of the White House, as it certainly 
would have kept Mrs. Cleveland had she been the unlucky possessor,” etc. 

Most girls by one thing or another have been kept out of the White House, 
but I once knew a widow with a waist that might have rivalled our ex-Presi- 
dent’s, and she married a man of military and social position who was enough 
in love with her to take her without the jointure she was obliged to resign in 
accepting his offer. 

Nor does a bald head in this day of artistic wigs necessarily make a woman 
ineligible for the office of Governor’s wife. I knew, a charming lady rendered 
bald by insomnia, who married an adoring husband. To be sure, she had a 
pretty face and an uncommonly sweet disposition. It is interesting to know 
that he saw her bald head after marriage and that his love survived the test. 

Prominent statesmen do sometimes wed homely women ; persons yet living 
remember with pleasure the brilliant and very ugly Princess Metternich who 
was one of the social attractions of the court of Louis Napoleon. 

The “ tree of life” still stands in the midst of the garden, and its fruit is 
for all woman-kind : baby fingers pat wrinkled and flabby cheeks as softly as 
round and rosy ones ; “ babies’ skies are mothers’ eyes,” even if they are cross- 
eyes ; moles and disfiguring birthmarks have been called “ mamma’s beauty- 
spots” by tender, lisping voices. Wedded love, too, has been as constant to the 
homely woman as ever it has to the beautiful one. Even Mahomet, with all 
the laxity of the Moslem creed he was promulgating, took no other wife while 


THE BOTTS TWINS. 


119 


the elderly Khadijah, greatly his senior, lived, and among the endearments of 
her youthful successors he always declared, “ There is no one like Khadijah ; 
she believed in me when no one else did.” Her sovereignty, it will be seen, 
lay in the immortal principle of the man’s nature, transfiguring and dominating 
the lower elements that help to constitute marriage. 

Success in literature, science, and art is open to the ugly as it is to the 
beautiful, granted that it does come more easily to the woman equipped with 
good looks as an auxiliary. Charlotte Cushman, plain and masculine-looking, 
attained the pinnacle of an art which from its nature must appeal largely to the 
senses. Think of a homely Romeo! she took the part sometimes. 

Margaret Fuller, another homely woman, influences even yet by her per- 
sonal magnetism the thought of New England; and George Eliot, whose ugli- 
ness was almost phenomenal, was not prevented by it from winning the love of 
two devoted men and “living again in minds made better” by her genius. 

We hope girls will go on being pretty and prettier, just as we hope flowers 
will go on blooming ; but destiny is more than skin-deep, it is determined by 
the force of character, the subtleties of temperament, the magic of opportunity, 
and by we know not what stress of “ Karma” behind the veil. 

We strongly suspect that the author of the “Plea for Ugly Girls” is not 
“ one of them,” but, if she is, the writer of this paper will try to match her con- 
summate candor by saying that, although never an “ ugly girl” herself, she has 
through life looked at many ugly girls and been forced to acknowledge that in 
one way or another they had managed to obtain a superior share of all that 
makes life worth having. Frances Albert Doughty. 


THE BOTTS TWINS. 

“You ain’t never been hyeered ’bout dem Botts twins, is yer?” said Uncle 
Ike the last time I asked for a story. “You ain’t? Den I ’spec’s p’r’aps I 
better tell you ’bout dat, do’ tooby sho’ dey ain’t much story ’bout it, leas’ways 
’tain’t nothin’ new fer niggers ter lie, but den ’tain’t many on ’em kin lie so 
slick an’ so cool ez dat Jeff Botts. I jes’ nat’ally b’lieve he’d sooner lie ner eat, 
do’ he wa’n’t no small shakes at er meal er vittles eider, min’ yer. 

“Well, Jeff he wuz gittin’ right smart ole, en ’twix’ folks not bein’ able 
ter put no ’pen’unce in w’at he tole ’um an’ his likin’ fersettin’ down an’ gabblin’ 
mo’n ter wu’k, he didn’ never have mo’n ’nuff fer hisself an’ Dilly ter eat an’ 
none ter spar’. Howsever, dey did manage ter scratch ’long somehow, ez de 
chil’n wuz all big ’nuff ter hire ’bout ’mong de nabers, an’ w’at Jeff an’ de ole 
woman couldn’ do de good Lawd done fer’m, I s’pose. 

“But, laws, honey! one day, kinder on’spected like, come ’long two little 
twin brats whar wuz blacker’n yo’ shoe, an’ den I tell yer dey wuz trubble in 
dat Botts ’stablishment, you hyeer me. 

“ Jeff he wuz powerful bothered ’bout how dey gwine git ’long, kase Aunt 
Dilly mos’ in gen’ly done mo’ wu’k en he did hisself, an’ now she’d got ter stay 
home wid dem babies an’ couldn’ take in no washin’ er nothin’. Las’ Jeff he 
’skivered er plan fer ter git vittles ’nuff fer hisself an’ Aunt Dilly ’thout doin’ 


THE BOTTS TWINS. 


120 

mo’ wu’k en he hatter : so he starts off roun’ ’mong de nabers ter tell ’bout dem 
twins. Fus’ dere wuz my ole Miss’ an’ farmer Dusenberry, whar j’ined farms. 
Well, Jeff he goes ter ole Miss’ an’ he makes er great ’miration ’bout de ’diction 
dat de good Lawd done sont ’im in’s ole age, an’ den he ups an’ ’scribes dem 
twins an’ tells ole Miss’ dat he’s gwine name de bigges’ an’ fattes’ one Wuthin’ton, 
arter her fambly. Ole Miss’ wuz alius intrusted in babies, an’ she wuz mons’us 
tickled ’bout de chris’nin’ one on ’um arter her, an’ 3he sont me off right ’way 
ter de shanty wid er sight er vittles fer Jeff an ? Dilly; an’ I alius ’spected dat 
she gin dat no-’count nigger some money, but dat’s neider hyer tier dar. 

“ Den Jeff he goes off ober ter de Dusenberry place, an’ dar he ’gun mo’nin’ 
ober de jedgmunt f ’um heaben an’ all dat stuff ober ’gen, an’ how he don’ know 
w’at’s gwine come er him an’ de ole woman sence dem twins is done ’rived, an’ 
las’ he lets on how he’s gwine call de pooties’ er de brats arter ole man Dusen- 
berry hisself. De old man wa’n’t ez much intrusted in de young uns ez my ole 
Miss’, but he wuz right smart pleased fer all dat, an’ I ’spec’ Jeff made er pooty 
fa’r haul dar too. Den one er two er de yuther nabers heered tell er de twins 
er cornin’, an’ how dey wa’n’t by no means welkum, an’ dey sont de ole woman 
right smart er vittles an’ sich truck. 

“ Well, chile, Jeff he wuz livin’ fat fer mebbe er mont’, an’ he ain’t so 
much ez tu’ned his han’ ober, ’cep’n’ ter cut de ole woman er little passel er 
wood er some sich marter. But bimeby de nabers ’gun ter fergit ’bout de twins, 
an’ mebbe some on em wuz tired er feedin’ Jeff, but, howsever, vittles ’gun ter 
git sca’ce, an’ Jeff ’gun ter ’flee’ on de marter, an’ he ’eided dat dem twins wuz 
good fer mo’ vittles yit, an’ so he starts out an’ goes ober ter see ole Miss Jones, 
one er dese hyer Quaker ladies, whar he knowed wuz er red-hot ’bublikin. So 
Jeff he tells de same ole story ’bout de twins, an’ las’ he outs wid de p’int an’ 
tells de ole lady how he’s gwine name dem babies Lincoln an’ Grant. Dat 
tickled de ole lady no en’, an’ she gin Jeff er dollar on de spot an’ fixed ’im up 
er whole harmper er vittles ter cyar’ home ter Dilly. Den de ongodly liar he 
goes smack ober ter ole man Rabbit’s, whar wuz one er dese hyer rip-snortin’, 
ole-time, secesh dimmycrats, an’ gits er nuther dollar ter name dem twins Jeff 
Davis an’ Bob Tooms. 

“ Ole Doctor Jones, whar ’tended Aunt Dilly, an’ wuz all ’bout de naberhood, 
ez doctors is, you know, he hyeered f’um dis one dat de twins wuz ter be name’ 
sich an’ sich, an’ f’um dat one dat dey wuz ter be chris’n’ so an’ so. Well, 
honey, he kinder ’spected w’at Jeff wuz up ter, an’ so one day he met up wid 
Jeff in de road, an’ he up ’n’ says, says he, ‘Jeff, w’at yer gwine name dem las’ 
two ’flictions er yourn?’ says he. Den Jeff he seed f’um de doctor’s face dat 
he done ’skivered all ’bout his ’ceitfulness, an’ so he kinder grinned, an’ he says, 
says he, ‘ Ef I ain’t done fergit part er it, doctor, it’s ’bout like dis : Wuthin’ton 
Dusenberry Lincoln an’ Grant Jeff Davis an’ Bob Tooms Botts.’ Den de doctor 
he laffed, he did, an’ he says, ‘ Dem names is bin de life er you an’ de ole woman, 
Jeff, but dey ’ll be de death er de twins, sho !’ 

“Well, honey, dem twins is right smart slips er boys now, an’ dey ain’t 
never been chris’n’ yit. Jeff wuz feared ter ax anybody ter stan’ ’sponserbility 
fer’m, fer fear folks mought fin’ out ’bout his lies. 

“ I dis’member w’at dem twins wuz name’ las’ time I hyeered tell er’m,” 
concluded the old man, scratching his head reflectively, “but ’pears ter me dat 
one on ’um wuz call’ Jim Blaine an’ de oder Grover Clevelan’.” 

P. R. Stansbury. 


AS IT SEEMS. 


121 




AS IT SEEMS. 


T HERE is a dictum of Hamlet that by itself goes far to prove his madness, 
real or assumed. That is, it is such an assertion as a highly intelligent 
man would be apt to make only when his mind had lost its balance, or when he 
wished to appear non compos : 

Seems, madam ? • Nay, it is : I know not seems. 

For our purposes the maxim must read the other way. The modern 
thinker, to whom dogmatism is barbarism and to be cocksure the sign of crudity, 
if driven to the wall is forced to formulate his principle thus : 

Is, madam ? Nay, it seems : I know not is. 

The initial virtue nowadays is to suspend one’s opinion, or hold it subject 
to any amount of modification at a moment’s notice. The topics on which one 
can afford to be positive are so few that practically they do not count. Our 
campaign editors, our theologians, and our reformers are loud for their several 
bodies of doctrine, — it is their business ; but they feel in their hearts that while 
confident assurance may be the only way to do something, it is not the best way 
to know anything. Concrete and material ends are thus attained ; but if one is 
after truth, he must keep saying to himself, “ This will do for a working hypoth- 
esis : I think so now ; but I may see reason to think differently next year or 
next week.” 

It was otherwise in the ages of faith, the good old times of Torquemada and 
Alva. But a change has come over the spirit of the world’s dream, and we live 
in an age of reason (not necessarily Tom Paine’s) and of tolerance. Its maxims 
are, live and let live ; bear and forbear ; hear the other side ; prove all things, 
and hold fast what you can. The most ranting orator is expected to remember 
that he is not plenarily inspired, that his opponents are also vertebrate animals, 
who have the right of thought and speech no less than he. If he does not 
remember it, his audience usually will, and exercise their right divine to pick 
and choose according to their lights. But for this tacit understanding, debate 
would be impossible, and differences would be argued as of old with sword and 
fagot. However authoritative the consensus, however well established the con- 
vention, either rests on voluntary agreement, and that in turn on the opinion 
that thus to conform is well. To speak humanly, the decree of the most oecu- 
menical of councils, like the utterance of the most eloquent of special pleaders, 
resolves itself on the last analysis into 

Howe’er it be, it seems to me. 

It is perhaps chiefly in the cheerful recognition of this principle that the 
civilized man of to-day differs from his savage ancestors. When he mounts his 
hobby, couches his quill, and perpetrates— with whatever vehemence and on 
whatever subject— his confession of faith, it is with this saving clause. Gen- 
erally considered, these tenets are of course necessary to salvation,— but then 
there are the uncovenanted mercies. Full enlightenment, highly-esteemed 


122 


AS IT SEEMS. 


contemporaries and deeply-respected readers, would bring you to our position : 
still, we shall not attempt to ostracize you for dissenting. Even if you maintain 
the opposite, that is within your right. After all, it is your affair to decide, just 
as it is ours to discharge our conscience and ease our bosom of its perilous stuff. 
Mr. Howells has kindly admitted that one may be virtuous without good taste ; 
and M. Kenan, in the most personal and pathetic passage of his latest volume, 
launches this modest though pessimistic sentence : 

“ Amid so many contradictions, leaving only the choice between errors, who 
can pretend to be without offence ? He who is afraid of being mistaken, and 
does not denounce any one as blind ; he who does not quite know what may be 
the goal of humanity, but who loves it all the same, it and its work ; he who 
seeks after the truth with hesitation, and who says to his adversary, ‘ Perhaps 
you see better than I do;’ he, in short, who leaves to others the full liberty he 
assumes for himself : that man may sleep in peace, and await with assurance 
the judgment of the world, whatever it may be.” 

When Doctors Differ. — The well-regulated mind, anxious for guidance 
in its casual excursions, wishes to defer to expert opinion. Alas, how rarely 
are the experts of one mind on any topic ! Take a single case, the latest, where 
a hundred examples of similar divergence might be presented in any given year. 
Of all our weekly papers there are two (and I need not name them) which carry 
the highest critical authority. These noticed, nearly at the same time, the 
Memoir of a late eminent professor. The first, which stands alone in its wide 
field, says that Dr. Phelps’s letters “possess all that is of real value in the 
book:” the biographer’s “filial devotion to her father’s memory unfits her for 
the patient and impartial analysis which alone could give his very complex 
nature an appearance of real life, while her exuberantly rhetorical style blurs 
even the inadequate outline she attempts to draw.” “ Of the man himself we 
get no living and consistent image in the book.” 

The other, which is far and away the best of our few purely literary jour- 
nals, says the Memoir shows to advantage “ all the good and few of the objec- 
tionable traits in the literary character” of its famous author. “ It is the fruit 
of conscientious industry and noble self-control. In its truthfulness, its sense 
of proportion, its finish and beauty, it reminds one of a masterpiece of Greek 
art. ... It is this Greek spirit of restraint, while the soul is full, that we can- 
not but admire in the work.” Daughters too generally overdo their filial lauda- 
tions, it must be owned, but “ it is the best praise of the piece of literary art 
before us to say, as we do, ‘ Within bounds.’ ... We have [here] what is so 
rare in the average biography — literature.” 

Comparing these accounts, which agree like oil and water, one is driven to 
exclaim, with the Teutonic brethren, “ Well, well !” Here are two naturally- 
selected and highly-trained critics on whom the same work makes precisely op- 
posite impressions. Can it be that these well-considered utterances are open to 
such mundane influences as those of the digestion and the weather? Under 
such a dispensation the afflicted reader has no resource but to examine this book 
(and possibly many other books too) for himself, and to form his own extremely 
fallible opinion. How can one escape the demoralizing conclusion that these 
able reviews, or at least one or the other of them, reflect less the fact about 
Mrs. Ward’s book than the mind— not to say the mood— of the able reviewer? 
It is sad to think it, but it looks as if the critic must be understood as heading s 


AS IT SEEMS. 123 

his deliverances with the Tennysonian line cited above, or closing them with 
the possibly destructive admission, “ Or so it seems to me.” 

An Irish Poe. — Few people have ever heard of James Clarence Mangan : 
even to such as profess literature he is seldom more than a name. A shy, 
elusive, mysterious personage, he took little pains to push himself into notice, 
being mainly occupied with the effort, pursued with no great steadiness or suc- 
cess, to keep the wolf from the door. Miss Guiney, who brings him to light in 
an Atlantic article of uncommon brilliancy, crammed with human as well as 
literary interest, says “ his personal history is quite as vague as if he had lived 
in a hermit’s cell eight hundred years ago yet she manages to reconstruct him 
in an outline so striking as to make one wish for more. Her samples of his 
verse give the distinct impression of genius, and what is revealed of his wretched 
life shows that he never had half a chance. He was no puling egotist, — it was 
his habit to hide, rather than parade, his woes ; but here is his autobiography, 
condensed : 

With genius wasted, 

Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love, 

With spirit shipwrecked and young hopes blasted, 

He still, still strove. 

And he fell far through the pit abysmal, 

The gulf and grave of Maginn and Burns, 

And pawned his soul for the devil’s dismal 
Stock of returns. 

Like Poe, he was a liar, an intermittent sot, a self-tormentor, and in the 
main a self-destroyer ; but it was not wholly his fault. As used to be supposed 
of Poe before Mr. Woodberry unearthed the facts, Mangan was more sinned 
against than sinning; the elements were his foes, and he never got enough 
sunshine for moral health. Chained to the laboring oar almost from infancy, 
hedged from starvation and liberty alike by vulgar and grimy kinds of work, 
preyed on by relatives, stabbed in the house of his friends, it is no wonder that 
he went to pieces ; the wonder is that the pieces have so much flavor. His 
lying seems to have been professional and jocose: when nobody cared for the 
truth, he would pass off his own poems as translations from the Arabic and 
what not. He had far more manhood than Poe ; more character, more moral 
feeling, more humanity. He would disappear for a month or two, probably sus- 
taining life on herrings, whiskey, and opium, between his garret and the Dublin 
dives ; and then he would come up serenely and go to work. Nobody knew 
him well or cared much about him. There seems no evidence that he ever broke 
a contract or harmed any one but himself. 

That trick of the refrain which Poe worked so diligently, and which added 
so much to his fame as a poet, he is far more likely to have borrowed from Man- 
gan than Mangan from him. The two died in the same year, and in much the 
same way. Poe has his full share of glory ; the other is in almost total eclipse. 
There is no decent edition of poor Mangan’s poems : why should not Miss 
Guiney make at least a selection from them, with this admirable sketch prefixed? 

A Heedless Confession. — Mr. Howells has been barbarously assailed 
by an alleged English critic, who finds “ astonishing frankness” in his admis- 
sion that “ for all aesthetic purposes the American people is not a nation, but a 


124 


AS IT SEEMS. 


condition.” The remark was perhaps ill considered, but we think it unfair to 
denounce the author as deliberately unpatriotic. It is true that Shakespeare 
finished his course before the Pilgrims came to Plymouth, that “ Paradise Lost” 
preceded the settlement of Philadelphia, and that Dryden and Pope got in their 
work ahead of the signers of the Declaration. But, however humiliating the 
reflection that we are so much younger than our British brethren, we have the 
consolation of reflecting that it is only our misfortune, not our fault. Yet we 
have done some few things in literature, and made some feeble beginnings in 
art. We might consent not to be a nation, but to be reduced to a mere condi- 
tion is hard— especially as it is not clearly apparent, in this connection, what 
" a condition” is. When Mr. Cleveland opposed “ a condition” to “ a theory,” 
he was intelligible, both being abstract terms ; but “ nation” and “ condition” 
seem to make a poor antithesis. Perhaps Mr. Howells meant that we were in 
a condition. We might stand that. 

From Amoy. — In a letter from Dr. Bedloe, U.S. consul at Amoy, China, 
and author of “ A Tiffin with a Taotai,” the tricks and manners of the natives 
are thus set forth : 

“ They do everything that we do, but in exactly the opposite way. A man 
wears his hair long, a woman short. A gentleman’s robe comes down to his 
heels, a lady’s to her hips. A bride is married in a single gown and goes to bed 
with six suits on, one over the other. The midnight burglar does his fine work 
at high noon. The noiseless detective pounds a drum from the moment he goes 
on duty till he is relieved. The priest brings church, altar, and idol into your 
house to save you the trouble of going to his.” 

Mr. James Whitcomb Riley is probably the most popular of living Ameri- 
can poets. Among several recent publications of his is one specially adapted 
to the holiday season, a handsomely illustrated edition of “ An Old Sweetheart 
of Mine.” The colored lithographs present the beauties of childhood and of 
nature, and fitly set off the graceful and touching stanzas. 

It has been the aim and practice of this magazine to introduce new writers 
to the public. Our novel this month is the first work in fiction of an experi- 
enced journalist, a former editor of the Louisville Courier- Journal. In connec- 
tion with Colonel McClure’s paper, it will give the present number a special 
interest for the profession. Other tales illustrative of the journalistic life, from 
various pens, will follow. 

The art of the reciter, though too little appreciated and too nearly lost, is 
of the highest value, not merely as contributory to the labors of the stage, the 
forum, and the pulpit, but from its inherent dignity and importance. Oftener 
travestied than practised, it is sometimes really illustrated in our days ; and Mr. 
Hawthorne, in this number, pays a cordial tribute to one of its most eminent 
living professors. 

“ With the Gloves” *s the first of a series of articles on athletic subjects by 
non-professionals. Mr. Dawson is widely known as an amateur athlete and 
successful man of business, and familiarly to the readers of this magazine as a 
writer of forceful verse. A fragment from an unpublished poem of his also 
appears in this number. 


A LITERARY CONVERSATION. 


125 


A LITERARY CONVERSATION. 


Dramatis Persona Mr. Julian Hawthorne, 

The Interlocutor. 

Scene The Interlocutor’s Private Office. 

Time Last Week, 11.30 a.m. 


[The Interlocutor is discovered at his desk, rejecting MSS. Enter Mr. H.] 

Mr. H. Good-morning. What are you paying for epics nowadays? I 
have here 

The Int. Two cents a pound. 

Mr. H. That is for the paper. But don’t you make an allowance for pen 
and ink? 

The Int. We have to secure our profit, you see. 

Mr. H. Yes. But where does the author come in ? 

The Int. By that door. And he generally goes out the same way. 

Mr. H. ( seating himself). Well, I’m not in the market this morning. 

The Int. [brightly). Is that so? Glad to see you! Have a cigar. Make 
yourself comfortable. What do you know ? 

Mr. H. A man fresh from six months on the eastern end of Long Island 
doesn’t come in town to be asked the news. 

The Int. The papers don’t penetrate so far, eh ? 

Mr. H. Oh, yes ; but not the necessity for reading them. 

The Int. Then you have no use for printer’s ink at all ? 

Mr. H. Well, I confess to a book or so, sporadically. 

The Int. Such as what? The ash-receiver is on your right. 

Mr. H. Why, I came across something of Tolstoi’s the other day. 

The Int. [compassionately). My dear friend, has the “Kreutzer Sonata” only 
just reached 

Mr. H. No, no ! This is a new thing, brought out by Webster & Co. and 
illustrated by Gribayedoff, and translated by another gifted Russian, Count 
Norraikow. 

The Int. Oh ! you mean that collection of tales, — “ The Old Devil, and The 
Three Little Devils.” Well, what did you think of it? 

Mr. H. [elevating his feet to the table , and assuming a judicial air). I don’t 
know that I have seen anything of that wonderful old crank’s that struck me 
more agreeably. The three stories make up a sort of tract of the times, pro- 
mulgating Tolstoi’s socialistic views. But they are treated lightly and pleasantly, 
especially the eponymous one, which is a bit of folk-lore adapted to carry a 
socialistic homily. There is nothing of the character-analysis and minute de- 
scription that you see in “ Anna Karenina,” but, for all that, you perceive that 
the author thoroughly knows his own creations : he drops a telling hint now 
and then, and nothing is left vague in the end. There’s plenty of humor, too ; 
but it is in the substance of the web, — not fastened on in little sparkling bits, 
as some of our culture-humorists would have done it. The aim is to show the 
practical wisdom of applying the primitive Christian doctrines to our present 
civilization; and it is carried out so well that anybody who didn’t know by 
experience how hard it is to write such a thing would never perceive the art of it. 
A fanciful yarn about hobgoblins and farmers’ sons is made to serve as the type 


126 


A LITERARY CONVERSATION. 


and illustration of all the fundamental problems and evils of the time ; and the 
“ Fool,”— Ivan —without once abrogating his proper characteristics, is shown to 
be the incarnation of Christian wisdom. The first part of the story — I don’t call 
it an allegory, because it’s too warm and human for that — discusses the means 
of overcoming the minor social troubles and dangers of social life; the second 
takes up questions of national policy, illustrates Saint Paul’s remark as to the 
mischief of money, and points out how' armies may be rendered innocuous by 
simply not fighting them. In the end, Ivan the Fool is left the peaceful and 
happy Czar of a peaceful and happy people, all of whom produce by the labor 
of their hands whatever is essential to their livelihood, and are practically rich 
by a friendly system of mutual exchange. Of course there’s nothing essentially 
new in the idea, but its handling is masterly, and precisely adapted to the 
popular intelligence. Such a book can certainly do no harm ; and though I am 
not regenerate enough to think, with Tolstoi, that head-work is all humbug and 
vanity, still I’m inclined to believe that much of his screed may do good. The 
other two tales, “ A Lost Opportunity” and “ Polikushka,” are studies in the 
same direction, also from peasant life. The rise, progress, and issue of the family 
feud in the “ Lost Opportunity” are given with tremendous truth and effect ; 
and “ Polikushka” is a pathetic little tragedy. If Tolstoi holds to this vein, he 
is likely to come into a new popularity. The translation is from the Russian 
direct, and is first-class. 

The Int. As to that, speaking professionally, the censor may block its career 
in Russia, and over here we have so many social and political reformers that we 
don’t need to import any. Did nothing American reach you in your solitude? 

Mr. H. I’m rather in arrears with our contemporary literature. Most of it 
is either too conscientious or too startling: you are divided between a yawn 
and a blush. But there’s a little novel by John Habberton, published by 
Taylor & Co., which I digested with much satisfaction. 

The Int. Something in the style of “ Helen’s Babies”? 

Mr. H. “ Helen’s Babies” has the misfortune to be unique. Even Habberton 
himself can never quite do it again. I recollect, a few months after it came out, 
overhearing a couple of elderly English tradesmen discussing it with admiration, 
at a railway-station near London. It went all over the world, and carried the 
same blessing along with it that a little child might. Habberton has profound 
human sympathies, and they came out, in that story, with a spontaneousness and 
simplicity that couldn’t well be surpassed. But the book I’m speaking of now 
— “ Out at Twinnett’s”— is in another vein. It has a plot, with a good surprise 
in it ; a good, warm love-story, a villain, and poetical justice. It is very cleverly 
contrived, and the background and treatment are fresh. The old sailor, with 
his house-of-call on the island off our coast here ; the group of summer guests ; 
the mystery, increasing and developing ; the men, with their knowingness, and 
the women, with their intuitions, — altogether a capital piece of work, and not 
without a good wholesome moral, which you taste, but don’t have rammed down 
your throat. I like it. 

The Int. As to poetry, I suppose you have to be contented with the natural 
harmonies of your environment? 

Mr. H. They are sufficient ; and yet there was a thin white volume that 
came my way not long ago which gave out a minor note which chimed in very 
pleasantly with the inchoate poetry of the sea-shore summer. You’ve heard of 
the book, — Richard Watson Gilder’s “Two Worlds.” For a man who always 


“ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA .' 1 


127 


writes with such refinement and delicacy, he is surprisingly well known. There 
is none of our poets — not even Aldrich — who says things with more exquisite 
felicity and polish, though Gilder has nothing of Aldrich’s wit, and (in his 
poetry, at least) no humor. But this book of his reminds me of one of those 
illuminated missals of the fourteenth century : every page, though to the eye 
it is but black and white, blooms to the mind with the loveliest, tenderest colors 
and the most graceful designs. He has something of the power of “ saying 
things too simple and too sweet for words” that Coventry Patmore speaks of ; 
only some of his sayings are not simple in idea, though the skill of the ex- 
pression makes them seem so. Let me see if I can’t recollect a couple of them. 
They stick in the memory. 

The poet from his own sorrow 
Poured forth a love-sad song. 

A stranger, on the morrow, 

Drew near, with a look of wrong, 

And said, “ Beneath its pall 

I have hidden my heart in vain — 

To the world thou hast sung it all ! 

Who told thee my secret pain ?” 

And here’s another : 

Not alone in pain and gloom 
Does the abhorred tempter come ; 

Not in light alone and pleasure 
Proffers he the poisoned measure. 

When the soul doth rise 
Nearest to its native skies, 

Then the exalted spirit finds, 

Borne upon the heavenly winds, 

Satan, in an angel’s guise, 

With voice divine and innocent eyes. 

What do you think of that? 

The Int. Good ! And now come and lunch with me. 

Mr. H. ( removing his feet from the table with alacrity ). Why this unwonted 
liberality ? 

The Int. The facfTs, my stenographer, having nothing better to do, has 
been taking down your conversation ; and I guess I’ll have it put in the maga- 
zine. So — quid pro quo — come on. [Exeunt. 

Curtain. 


11 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA ” 

Scene, the Editor's office. Enter Melville Philips , humming a tune. 

Ed. When a man bursts into song his heart is light. What’s your good 
news? 

M. P. Max O’Rell has published a new book, 

Ed. But the glad tidings ? 

M. P. I’ve read the book, 

Ed. Oho ! Blouet must know of that. How good of you, my boy ! what 
pluck ! It refers ? 


128 


"A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA” 


M. P. To you, and some thousands of other eminent Americans. It’s a 
thoroughly readable book, is “ A Frenchman in America,” jolly throughout 
after the author’s inimitable manner. 

Ed. What’s the general plan of it? 

M. P. Ah, there’s half its charm. It utterly lacketh plan. To be sure, 
it purports to be a record or journal of the author’s lecturing tour in this 
country during the winter of ’89-’90 ; but no record could be more fragmentary, 
less continuous. Hence it is like the author’s Gallic wit, — flashing, saltatory, 
irresistible. You go, in a word, from place to place in the United States and 
Canada, without method of progress ; the remarkable itinerary being the result 
of the exigencies of the lecturing business. Thus, you go, let us say, from New 
York to Cleveland, then back to Philadelphia, and the next day set out for 
Wisconsin. 

Ed. Does Max complain about it? 

M. P. Well, no; he’s mostly imperturbable. On several occasions, how- 
ever, the railway travel is not to his liking, and once he is moved to pitch an 
insolent conductor out of the window. But even then he quickly recovers 
his temper, and one can fancy him muttering the words of Touchstone in Arden, 
— “ When I was at home I was in a better place ; but travellers must be content.” 

Ed. The general tone of his report and criticism, then, is kindly? 

M. P. Decidedly so. He even apologizes for the American “ interviewer,” 
and frankly says that, “ With the exception of a king, or the prime minister of 
one of the great powers, a man is only too glad to be interviewed.” Candor 
like that from a foreigner and — a Frenchman is as fascinating as it is rare. 
But then we must take into account the dominating sense of humor in M. 
Blouet. While it is by no means always a serious thing, it admirably illus- 
trates the Shaftesbury quotation, that “ humor is the only test of gravity, and 
gravity of humor.” We are quite left in the dark, for instance, as to his emo- 
tions when, as he was about to lecture to the students of a religious college, a 
professor stepped forward and offered a prayer in which he asked the Lord to 
allow the audience to see the lecturer’s points ! Max was doubtless amazed, 
but his face, we are sure, remained inscrutable. 

Ed. I rather like what you tell me of the book. It will bear reading, eh? 

M. P. Better than that. You can dip into it anywhere, — take a pinch 
of it, as of snuff. It will keep, and it will last. 

Ed. I’ll get it. 


v 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


129 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 

This is an age when society begins to subdivide itself anew 
into specialized departments, when the doctor, the surgeon, 
the engineer, the author, the man of business or of handi- 
craft, take on more restricted functions among their fellows, 
thus rendering each individual of greater benefit to the body 
at large. Hence there is an unusual significance in the ap- 
pearance of a work like Chambers’s Encyclopaedia. Its ten large octavo volumes 
of about eight hundred and thirty pages each hold within them the distilled 
essence of all the specialization which the passing decades have brought into 
being. The editors have reached out with the wide resources of the publishers 
at their command and have tapped every vein of learning, — science, art, indus- 
try ; every varying line which radiates from the central veins, — and, going fur- 
ther still, have taken from the best authority on each infinitely divided branch 
the latest, truest, and wisest knowledge he has to give. Thus stocked with the 
wealth of contemporary invention and thought, the work becomes monumental, 
an index to the future, of this era’s intellectual attainments, and an inex- 
haustible storehouse for present needs. 

With the eighth volume before us we can illustrate this in no more con- 
vincing way than by giving even a very brief summary of its comprehensive 
contents. The titles run from Peasant to Roumelia, a space confined to only 
three letters of the alphabet, and yet within that limit there are articles con- 
tributed by the most eminent specialists in every walk of knowledge and upon 
topics as old as Phoenicia and as new as the Phonograph. 

Religion has been treated, for instance, by Cardinal Manning, who has re- 
vised the exhaustive notes on Penance and the Roman Catholic Church ; by 
Father Lockhart, who writes of Rosmini; and by James Oliphant and Frederic 
Harrison, who furnish the paper on Positivism. The province of literature 
includes articles on Poetry, by Edmund Gosse ; on Prior, Praed, and Richard- 
son, by that most thorough of eighteenth-century students, Austin Dobson ; on 
Rabelais, by Walter Besant; and on Rossetti, by his talented brother, William 
Michael Rossetti ; while Periodicals have been capably handled by Editor Stead. 
Science and engineering are intrusted respectively to Edison, who is respon- 
sible for Phonograph, and to E. McDermott, editor of the Railway Neivs, who 
writes on Railways. Papers about places and historic sites come from Canon 
Rawlinson, who contributes Phoenicia; from Stanley Lane-Poole, on the Pyra- 
mids; from Andrew Carnegie, on Pittsburgh; and from E. B. Washburne, on 
Philadelphia. The art topics include notes on Pre-Raphaelitism by one of the 
few survivors of its original circle, the eminent English artist Holman Hunt; 
and on Rembrandt by the able art-critic Philip Gilbert Hamerton. 

This is only a mere taste of the solid array of intellectual food contained in 
the last volume of Chambers’s Encyclopaedia, and yet it serves to indicate that 
the w T hole immense circle of modern learning has been laid under contribution 
to furnish forth its contents, and that the greatest authorities have expounded 
in its pages their chosen themes. Indeed, for completeness in brevity, for 
ample illustrations, for satisfactory maps, and for its wide range of subjects the 
work has had no competitor, be it in the form of dictionary or encyclopaedia, 
Vol. XLIX. — 9 


Chambers’s Ency- 
clopaedia. New 
Edition. Vol. 

VIII. Peasant to 
Roumelia. 


130 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


and in this, the American edition, published by the J. B. Lippincott Company, 
there has, moreover, been introduced a large number of local subjects by native 
scholars, a feature which lends the publication a peculiar value to buyers on 
our side of the Atlantic. 

It is much to have written a story which introduces fresh, 
The Romance of a vivacious, and captivating people ; but it is a finer achieve- 
Chaiet. A story, men t s tiH to write with such cleverness, such breezy and 

by Mrs. Campbell ... . , , , . . . . . 

Praed enlivening vigor, that the reader lays down the book at each 

sitting with regret, looks through the day with pleasure 
toward the hour when it can be taken up again, and finally sinks into an atti- 
tude of delighted abandon when it is once more in his hands beneath the 
evening lamp. 

Such a book is Mrs. Campbell Praed’s last novel, The Romance of a Chalet. 
It is distinctly the work of a literary artist who is a mistress of her craft in 
all its difficult branches. But before all else it is a concrete and perfect story 
which unfolds itself to the reader, as a work of art always must, by successive 
but imperceptible movements, like the advancing developments of a flower. 

The narrator of the events which compose the tale meets on a Geneva lake 
steamer, as she travels towards Champ^ry in Switzerland, Miss Constance Van 
Klaft, who happens to be voyaging to the same resort. An acquaintance springs 
up through common interest in travel and mutual liking, and they at last find 
each other domesticated near together and among mutual friends in the pictur- 
esque little town by the Dent du Midi. Miss Van Klaft is alone, save for her 
faithful dog, Caesar ; and this circumstance, added to a striking resemblance, 
discovered by a busybody of the town, between her and a woman with a sensa- 
tional reputation, causes a storm of gossip among the summer populace. At 
last Sir Rupert Keningale appears, and, in the wavering manner of a calculating 
lover, falters but finally overcomes. Here the dramatic interest of the tale 
actually begins, and henceforth, through all the successive surprises to the end, 
there is a reserve such as only a consummate artist knows how to employ, a 
subdued intensity which differs essentially from melodrama, while possessing all 
of its better and most absorbing traits. 

Another excellence possessed in a marked degree by Mrs. Praed is her un- 
faltering style, which, whether in descriptive passages, or in the sure touches 
that picture a climax, is always clear, felicitous, and musical. Her sense of 
selection, that little noticed but essential quality in the creation of character 
and scenery, is also of a rare order; and, finally, her gift of tale-telling pure 
and simple has seldom been surpassed by novelists who, like herself, are only a 
trifling degree below the very highest rank. 

The Romance of a Chalet is the first novel by an English author to be 
copyrighted in this country by the Messrs. Lippincott, and as a sample of what 
may be expected from this new source of fiction it is vastly encouraging. It is, in 
brief, well bred, picturesque, shows a commanding knowledge of the world, and 
introduces characters who have the rare combination of social polish and deep 
dramatic interest. 

The external style of the book is as novel and taking as its internal struc- 
ture, and it is to be hoped that a long series of such stories may follow this very 
charming one, which, by the way, reaches the hands of English readers simul- 
taneously with its issue in this country. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


131 


Ashes and Incense. 
Poems, by Wait- 
man Barbe. 


The poet who lias given us the musical and thoughtful 
notes which harmonize into Ashes and Incense stands, as 
he himself well phrases it, at the morning gate of song. 
He holds in his hands a few flowers of melody as he looks 


across the gateway into the gardens where the master singers are, and he offers 
his cluster of buds as a gift of praise to them, as well as a fragrant token to his 
readers. 

Mr. Waitman Barbe, who in reality brings us this little book of song and 
contemplative musing, has a true call to poetry, because he is possessed of the 
double faculty of making music and of expressing by its means the genuine 
thoughts that are in him. His rhythms are clear and pure and unpremeditated, 
even if they sometimes lack the strength which must always come later to one 
with so genuine a gift ; and his reflective ideas, his happy conceits and playful 
caresses of Nature and her symbolisms, all mark him out for the office he has so 
modestly assumed. 

Moreover, there is scarcely an echo, in all the sweet verse in Ashes and 
Incense, of any other singer. Perhaps now and then one hears an agreeable 
reminiscent vibration from the harp of Sidney Lanier; but that may be due 
rather to the fact that Mr. Barbe writes with nearly the same natural background 
as Lanier and speaks the same Southern language of tender and softened passion, 
than to any conscious imitation. The whole book, in truth, impresses one with 
the conviction that it is the work of an original man of talent who promises 
much for the future while giving generously in the present. In witness of all 
this may be cited the poems named At the Morning Gate; the long revery, A 
Watch in the Night; Thy Name; The Old Etcher; and After the Hunt. 

The publishers, J. B. Lippincott Company, have given the book an attrac- 
tive garb of paper, print, and cover which makes a strong appeal to the pur-" 
chaser even before he becomes acquainted with the iminly nature within. 


It is the chief, but often disregarded or unrealized, office 
of the technician to render himself, in giving forth his re- 
search to others, as clear and uninvolved as his subject will 
permit. Whether the audience addressed is a professional 
or a lay one, the medium of communication should be free 
from obscurities of phrase as well as intricacies of argument. 
It should, in short, be direct, plain, and as simple as it can be made. 

In Prof. Henry Trimble’s new work entitled The Tannins : a Monograph 
on the History, Preparation, Properties, Methods of Estimation, and Uses of the 
Vegetable Astringents, he has adhered very strictly to this fundamental rule, 
and has produced a treatise of lasting value in an untilled field of economic 
botany. 

Dr. Trimble, who holds the chair of analytical chemistry in the Philadelphia 
College of Pharmacy, certainly possesses unusual advantages for the work he 
has accomplished. He began to prepare his book about twelve years ago, but 
it grew under his pen to far greater proportions than he at first intended, so 
that, as it stands before us now, it comprises a nearly complete history of the 
very important subject it treats of. The author has had access to all the num- 
berless publications by others which touch upon vegetable astringents and their 
properties, and this fact is well attested by the exhaustive bibliography which 
accompanies his book. But he has tried to make his treatise more than a mere 


The Tannins : a 
Monograph on 
Vegetable Astrin- 
gents, by Henry 
Trimble, Ph.M. 


132 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


compilation of the writings of accepted authorities, and he has ably and quite 
sufficiently fulfilled this purpose by the introduction of much original research, 
here published for the first time. 

This very important addition to chemical literature comes from the press 
of the Lippincotts, which has long been a recognized source of medical works 
in Philadelphia, a city noted for its eminent scholars in medicine and surgery. 

There is an earnest and well-expressed purpose to accom- 
Won, and Not One, pii s h a WO rthy end in Won, and Not One, by Emily Lucas 
BiackaTi lly LUCaS Blackall, who is the author, as well, of those widely-read 
books Superior to Circumstances and Melodies from Na- 
ture. In this attractive volume, published by the J. B. Lippincott Company, 
Mrs. Blackall has set for herself the task of portraying those conflicting senti- 
ments which often enter a family when it is divided in its religious allegiance, 
and she has made an effective little homily against opposing aims and imperfect 
sympathies. John Harding and Rachel Vail, members of different religious 
denominations, marry with the understanding that each is to attend the other’s 
church in turn. As might have been foreseen, this compact was not long kept. 
Rachel fell slowly under the dominion of the stronger will. Children were born 
to them, and this was a determining influence toward a united faith in worship, 
which, notwithstanding the heart-break and tears it cost the wife, she yet looked 
upon as the happiest episode of her life. 

The book is well illustrated with appropriate engravings, and will make 
an appeal to thoughtful readers, of even a stronger nature than that of Mrs. 
Blackall’s other works. 


BOOKS RECEIVED. 


133 


BOOKS RECEIVED. 

The Persecution of the Jews in Russia. Issued by the Russo- Jewish Com- 
mittee of London. Philadelphia, Jewish Publication Society of America. 

Homer in Chios. By Denton J. Snider. St. Louis, Sigma Publishing Company. 

Mind is Matter; or. The Substance of the Soul. By William Hemstreet. 

New York, Fowler & Wells Company. History of the Jews. By Prof. H. 

Graetz. Philadelphia, Jewish Publication Society of America. 1 Swear. 

By Frank H. Powers, of California. New York, Vires Publishing Company. 
The Dethroned Heiress ; or, Stricken by the Unseen Hand. By Miss Eliza 

A. Depuy. Miss Crespigny. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Philadel- 
phia, T. B. Peterson & Bros. The Story of Reine; or, My Uncle and my 

CurA By Jean de la Brete. Translated from the French by Mrs. J. H. 

Davis. Boston, Roberts Bros. Vacation Time: with Hints on Summer 

Living. (The Science of Health Library.) By H. S. Drayton, M.D. New 

York, Fowler & Wells Company. Life of Jane Welsh Carlyle. By Mrs. 

Alexander Ireland. New York, Charles L. Webster & Co. History of the 

Five O’Clock Club of Philadelphia. By J. Hampton Moore. A Primary 

W ord Book. By Sarah E. Buckbee. Boston, D. C. Heath & Co. Contes et 

Nouvelles. By Guy de Maupassant. New York, W. R. Jenkins. Deux 

Artistes en Voyage. Le Chant de Blondel. Les Deux Zephyrs. By Le Comte 

Alfred de Vervins. New York, W. R. Jenkins. Cosia et Le Rovaume du 

Dahomey. By Andre Michel Durand. New York, W. R. Jenkins. The 

Problem of Jesus. By George Dana Boardman. Philadelphia, John Y. Huber 

Company. The Hidden Sin. By Miss Eliza A. Depuy. Philadelphia, T. B. 

Peterson & Bros. John Auburntop, Novelist. By Anson Uriel Hancock. 

Chicago, Charles H. Kerr & Co. That Uncomfortable Shoe. By Avard J. 

Moore. New York, M. T. Richardson. The Haunted Homestead. By Mrs. 

Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Philadelphia, T. B. Peterson & Bros. 

Liberty and Life. By E. P. Powell. Chicago, Charles H. Kerr & Co. 

Burke’s American Orations. By A. J. George, A.M. Boston, D. C. Heath & 

Co. Justified. A Powerful Realistic Novel of the Day. By Ensign John 

M. Ellicott, U.S.N. New York, Minerva Publishing Company. The 

Teaching of Humanity. By Charles W. Rosenfeld. Translated from the He- 
brew by M. M. London, Charles W. Rosenfeld. The Songs of Sappho. By 

James S. Easby-Smith. Washington, D.C., Stormont & Jackson. Madame 

Bovary: a Story of Provincial Life. By Gustave Flaubert. Philadelphia, T. 

B. Peterson & Bros. The Bachelor’s Baby. By Coyne Fletcher. New 

York, Clark & Zugalla. Beads of Tasmar. By Amelia E. Barr. New York, 

Robert Bonner’s Sons. General Andrew Jackson. By Oliver Dyer. New 

York, Robert Bonner’s Sons. Out at Twinnett’s. By John Habberton. New 

York, John A. Taylor & Co. Sweet is Revenge. By J. Fitzgerald Molloy. 

New York, John A. Taylor & Co. The Origin of Will O’ The Wisp. (Illus- 

trated.) By Donizetti Muller. A Little Tour in Ireland. By an Oxonian. 

New York, W. S. Gottsberger & Co. The Business of Travel. Fifty Years’ 

Record of Progress. By W. Fraser Rae. London and New York, Thomas 

Cook & Son. Points of View. By Agnes Repplier. Boston and New York, 

Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Carmen. A Spanish Story. Translated from the 

French of Prosper Merimee, of the French Academy. Philadelphia, T. B. Peter- 
son & Bros. Rabbi and Priest. By Milton Goldsmith. Philadelphia, Jewish 


134 


BOOKS RECEIVED. 


Publication Society of America. Well Won. By Mrs. Alexander. New 

York, John A. Taylor & Co. Wayside Voices. By William Stivers Bate. 

Familiar Quotations: A Collection of Passages, Phrases, and Proverbs traced fo 
their Sources in Ancient and Modern Literature. By John Bartlett. Boston, 

Little, Brown & Co. Before He was Born ; or The Scarlet Arm. By Dr. E. 

L. M. Bristol. Ivan the Fool, also A Lost Opportunity, and Polikushka. By 

Count Leo Tolstoi. New York, Charles L. Webster & Co. Two Worlds, and 

other Poems. By Bichard Watson Gilder. New York, Century Company. 

John Winthrop’s Defeat. By Jean Kate Ludluin. New York, Robert Bonner’s 

Sons. A Dictionary of Thoughts. By Tryon Edwards, D.D. New York, 

Cassell Publishing Company. Th6rese Raquin; or The Harvest of Love. 

By Emile Zola. Philadelphia, T. B. Peterson & Bros. Little Heather- 

Blossom. By Frau von Ingersleben. New York, Robert Bonner’s Sons. 

Pretty Kitty Herrick. By Mrs. Edward Kennard. New York, John A. Taylor 

& Co. The Shadow of Shame. By Austyn Granville. Chicago, Charles H. 

Sergei & Co. Higher Education in Indiana. By James Albert Woodburn, 

Ph.D. Washington, Government Printing-Office. American History. By 

Mary Sheldon Barnes, A.B., and Earl Barnes, M.S. Boston, D. C. Heath & Co. 

Morphine. A Tale of the Present Day. By Dubut de Laforest. New 

York, The Waverly Company. The Shoplifter. By Georges Ohnet. New 

York, The Waverly Company. The Good Things of Life. New York, Fred. 

A. Stokes Company. Phillips Brooks, Bishop of Massachusetts. By Newell 

Dunbar. Boston, J. G. Cupples. Don Juan. A Play, in Four Acts. By 

Richard Mansfield. New York, J. W. Bouton. A Frenchman in America. 

By Max O'Rell. New York, Cassell Publishing Company. A Friend; or, 

Saved by Love. By Henry Gr6ville. Philadelphia, T. B. Peterson & Bros. 

Beatrice and Benedick. By Hawley Smart. New York, John A. Taylor 

& Co. Ben Beor. By H. M. Bien. Baltimore, Isaac Friedenwald Company. 

An Old Sweetheart of Mine. By James Whitcomb Riley. Indianapolis, 

The Bowen-Merrill Company. Studies Literary and Social. By Richard 

Malcolm Johnston. Indianapolis, The Bowen-Merrill Company. Neighborly 

Poems on Friendship, Grief, and Farm-Life. Indianapolis, The Bowen-Merrill 

Company. Land of the Lingering Snow. By Frank Bolles. Boston and 

New York, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Tom Tucker and Little Bo-Peep. By 

Thomas Hood. New York, Cassell Publishing Company. The Abbess of 

Port Royal and other French Studies. By Maria Ellery Mackaye. Boston, 

Lee & Shepard. Adventures of a Fair Rebel. By Matt Crim. New York, 

Charles L. Webster & Co. What Woman Wouldn’t? By Isabel Pallen 

Smith. Chicago, Donohue, Henneberry & Co. Sybil Brotherton. By Mrs. 

Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Philadelphia, T. B. Peterson & Bros. A Hard 

Lesson. By E. Lovett Cameron. New York, John A. Taylor & Co. Africa 

and America. By Alex. Crumwell. Springfield, Mass., Willey & Co. A 

Romance of the Willow. By Marie Woodruff Walker. For sale by American 

News Company. A Treasury of Favorite Poems. Edited by Walter Learned. 

New York, Frederick A. Stokes Company.— — Adrift from the Sea of Life. 

New York, Frederick A. Stokes Company. Back to Life. By T. W. Speight. 

New York, John A. Taylor & Co. David Lindsay. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. 

Southworth. New York, Robert Bonner’s Sons. The Modern Cook-Book. 

Compiled by Mrs. T. J. Kirkpatrick. Springfield, O., Mast, Crowell & Kirk- 
patrick. Mexican Painting and Painters. By Robert H. Lamborn, Ph.D. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The envy shown by other baking powder manufacturers of the 
great prestige of the Royal Baking Powder is not at all surprising. 
For thirty years the Royal has been the standard for purity and 
strength in baking powders, and has been placed at the head by every 
board of official examiners, — whether State or National. The Royal 
Baking Powder Company controls its own cream of tartar factory and 
the processes for making the only absolutely pure cream of tartar; 
it sends its product to millions of homes all over the world, supplies 
the Army and Navy, the great transatlantic steamers, the finest hotels 
and restaurants, and is recommended by the best chefs and authorities 
on cuisine in every land. Its sale is larger than that of all other cream 
of tartar baking powders combined ; it has more friends among house- 
keepers than any other similar article. 

These facts are bitterness to the makers of the inferior baking 
powders; hence their advertisements, filled with malice, envy, and 
falsehood, against the Royal. 

A Revelation in Cakes. — The buckwheat is the most cherished 
of all the griddle-cakes, and when properly made the most delicious. 
It has been against buckwheat cakes made in the old-fashioned way 
with yeast or risen overnight that they were frequently heavy or sour ; 
that disagreeable effects followed their eating. It has been found that 
these objections are completely overcome by mixing them with the 
Royal Baking Powder instead of yeast. Quickly made ; no setting 
overnight ; no materials spoiled. Risen with Royal Baking Powder, 
they are most delicious, — light, sweet, tender, assuredly wholesome, 
and may be eaten by any one without the slightest inconvenience. 
Once tested from the following receipt, the buckwheat cake will be 
awarded a prominent place among our table delicacies: 

Receipt. — Take two cups of buckwheat flour, one cup of wheat «flour, two 
tablespoons of Royal Baking Powder, one-half teaspoon of salt, and sift, dry, well 
and thoroughly together. Then mix with sweet milk into a thin batter and bake at 
once on a hot griddle. Try them made this way. They will be a revelation. 


Royal Baking Powder is specially made for use in the preparation 
of the finest, most wholesome and delicate cookery. 


136 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Lace. — In England lace has long been made in the counties of Bedford, 
Buckingham, and Northampton. In Bedfordshire there is a tradition that the 
manufacture of lace was introduced into the county by Catharine of Aragon, 
who brought the art from Spain. In the reign of Charles II. Flemish lace- 
makers came over and settled in England, but they could not obtain flax of the 
requisite quality from which to spin the exquisitely fine thread required, and 
the lace they produced was very much inferior to the Flanders lace. Devon- 
shire also became famous as a lace-making county, and its Honiton lace is un- 
questionably the best that has ever been made in England, although it is only 
equal to a second- or third-rate Brussels lace. The old Honiton ground, which 
was made on the pillow, went out of fashion when bobbinet was invented, and 
is now superseded by modern guipure, on which the Honiton sprigs are sewed. 

The Devonshire lace-workers were, unfortunately for themselves, old- 
fashioned and prejudiced. For a long time they clung obstinately to heavy, 
clumsy patterns which had been in date from the infancy of the art, but now 
a spirit of progress has taken possession of them, and they have obtained from 
the authorities of South Kensington a number of beautiful designs. The dis- 
covery of bobbinet, which annually consumes a large quantity of Scotch cot- 
ton thread, produced a great change in the history of lace; and shortly after- 
wards a still greater revolution was caused by the adaptation of the Jacquard 
loom to lace-making, a manufacture which was speedily introduced into Notting- 
ham on a large scale. Some of these machine-made laces imitate most faith- 
fully the costliest needle-point and pillow lace, and the better classes of them 
have portions of the work executed by the hand. 

Lace head-dresses, or what were called heads of lace, were very fashionable 
in England in the reigns of Mary and Anne, and the ladies of the court some- 
times paid very large sums for a fine head of French or Flemish lace ; but the 
extravagance in this fragile article of luxury was never carried to the same 
ruinous extent as in France. It was, however, profusely worn during what may 
be called the lace epoch, and was even coveted as an article of adornment after 
death. — Chambers's Journal. 

A Mild-Mannered Man of War.— Mr. Archibald Forbes says of Count 
von Moltke, “ I first saw him in the market-place of Saarbriicken on the 8th 
of August, 1870, the day on which, along with King Wilhelm, he arrived at the 
frontier town close to which, two days earlier, had been fought out the fierce 
battle of the Spicherenberg. He was sauntering up and down in the shade of the 
lime-trees, opposite to Guepratt’s hotel, in the characteristic attitude of hands 
clasped behind his back and head bent forward on his chest. Spite of helmet 
and sword, he had far more the aspect of a professor than of a soldier; and, if 
he was pondering strategical problems, he apparently found no difficulty in 
breaking the chain of thought to pat the head of a child that stood staring up 
at him. He certainly was the mildest-mannered man of war of whom I have 
ever had cognizance. On their first day on French soil, as he stood by the 
king in the market-place of St.-Avold while regiment after regiment streamed 
by them, a German soldier carrying a great loaf in his hand bumped accidentally 
against him and floured his arm from shoulder to elbow. The poor fellow’s 
face was a study as Moltke turned upon him ; but all that the general said, as 
he beat the flour out of his tunic, was, ‘ You’ve a fair-sized ration there mv 
lad !” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


137 


SORE THROAT 

Colds, coughs, croup, and whooping cough are com- 
plaints to which children are very liable. With a 
prompt and efficacious 
remedy at hand, serious 
consequences may often 
be prevented. The best 
medicine for all these 
complaints is Ayer’s 
Cherry Pectoral. A dose 
or two usually gives in- 
stant relief. It soothes 
the inflamed membrane, 
loosens the phlegm, stops 
coughing, induces repose, 
and speedily effects a cure. Every household 
should be provided with Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral. 
It has no equal as a remedy for bronchial disor- 
ders, loss of voice, la grippe, pneumonia, asthma, 
and consumption, in its early stages. It is agree- 
able to the taste, needs but small doses, does not 
interfere with digestion, and is the most economi- 
cal preparation of the kind that can be had. 

Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral 

Prepared by Dr. J. 0. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. 



THE FAMILY MEDICINE 

Most in demand for the relief and cure of costiveness, sick head- 
ache, biliousness, indigestion, jaundice, and the usual disorders of 
the stomach, liver, and bowels, 

Ayer's Cathartic Pills, 

Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. 

Every Dose Effective, 


138 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Cool Generals. — Murat, Napoleon’s dashing chief of cavalry, whose 
splendid enthusiasm won many desperate charges, could be as cool as his master 
upon occasion. At the taking of Moscow, while the troops sat in the saddle 
under a murderous fire, Murat received, writes a contemporary, a despatch to 
which an answer was required. Though his mettlesome horse was trembling, 
Murat laid the reins upon the horn of the saddle, took his note-book in one 
hand and a pencil in the other, and began to write a response. Suddenly a 
shell fell and exploded on the ground close by. The horse leaped into the air 
and swung wildly around. Murat simply transferred the pencil to the hand 
that held the note-book, calmed the horse with the other hand, and then went 
on writing his despatch as if nothing had happened. A shout of admiration 
went up along the line. Murat saw that the enthusiasm aroused by his trifling 
act had created a favorable moment for a charge. He gave the order, and his 
men swept clear through the enemy’s line. It is said that General Reynier 
once saved the French army in Calabria, in 1806, from a complete rout 
simply by the manner in which he smoked a cigar. The English infantry fire 
had compelled the French to retreat. Reynier, fearing a panic, remained to the 
last and brought up the rear. Though the English fire was murderous, he had 
lighted a cigar, and his retreating men noticed that the puffs of smoke went up, 
as his horse moved slowly on, with absolute regularity. Puff! A wait. Puff! 
Another wait. Puff! The enemy were pouring on, firing vigorously as they 
advanced ; but nothing could accelerate Reynier’s smoking. His soldiers 
rallied under the inspiration of the queer spectacle, and got off in good order. 
Perhaps the most cold-blooded commander who ever lived was the French 
general Saint-Cyr. He was a great tactician, but totally neglected the morale 
of his men. He was never seen on horseback, and never showed himself before 
the lines. On one occasion, when he was simply a general of division, the im- 
petuous Marshal Oudinot, puzzled to know what to do in an emergency, asked 
Saint-Cyr’s advice, frankly telling him that he was “ nonplussed.” “ You, mon- 
seigneur,” said Saint-Cyr, “ are a marshal of the empire, and I am a general of 
division. I shall faithfully carry out your orders, but it would not be becoming 
for me to advise yom” Later on Saint-Cyr succeeded to the command of the 
army, and then adopted a peculiar method of generalship. He formed his plan 
of battle clearly, precisely, and with admirable foresight. Then he sent his 
orders to his subordinates and shut himself up in his quarters, absolutely for- 
bidding entrance to a single soul. Then he took out his violin and went to 
studying a hard piece of music as tranquilly as if he had been in the midst of 
profound peace. The battle which won Saint-Cyr his baton as a marshal of the 
empire was fought^while he was fiddling in his tent. He had apparently fore- 
seen everything, and the carrying out of his plans completely crushed the 
enemy. 

Ancient Toys. — The most ancient of all toys is the doll. It has been dis- 
covered in excavations in Persia, in Greece, in Rome, and in Cyprus. Mariette 
Bey found dolls lying side by side with Egyptian mummies, and they have also 
been obtained from tombs in ancient Gaul. After the doll came the wooden 
horse. There is at Cambrai a curious collection of these rudimentary quad- 
rupeds, rudely-carved blocks with head and mane, but mostly without tails, 
which date from the time of Charles YI. Little Roman boys, however, during 
the reign of the Csesars were in the habit of bestriding wooden rocking-horses. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


139 


■ 



“Castor! a is so well adapted to children that 
I recommend it as superior to any prescription 
known to me.” H. A. Archer, M. D., 

111 So. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 


“ The use of ‘ Castoria ’ is so universal and 
;s merits so well known that it seems a work 
of supererogation to endorse it. Few are the 
intelligent families who do not keep Castoria 
within easy reach. ” 

Carlos Martyn, P.D., 

New York City. 

Late Pastor Bloomingdale Reformed Church. 


Castoria cures Colic, Constipation, 

Sour Stomach, Diarrhoea. Eructation, 

Kills Worms, gives sleep, and promotes di- 
gestion, 

Without injurious medication. 


“ For several years I have recommended 
your ‘ Castoria, 1 and shall always continue to 
do so as it has invariably produced beneficial 
results.” 

Edwin F. Pardee, M. D., 

“The Winthrop,” 125th Street and 7th Ave., 
New York City. 


The Centaur Company, 77 Murray Street, New York. 


The Penn Mutual Life Insurance 
Company was the first (and so far the 
only Company) to make no discrimi- 
nation against women, insuring their lives 
upon a great variety of plans at exactly 
the same rates as those charged men. 
The Penn Mutual Life Insurance Com- 
pany was the first (and so far the only 
Company) to consult the delicacy of 
women by employing women medical ex- 
aminers, who attend to the details of in- 
surance. Agencies in all principal cities 
and towns. 

Home Office, 921, 923, 925 Chestnut 
Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


140 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The African Buffalo. — There are several varieties of the buffalo 
proper, but all are remarkable for their formidable horns and almost invulner- 
able heads. When the sportsman has occasion to go forth to battle against a 
wild buffalo on foot, he will do well to study what Sir S. Baker has written on 
this subject. 

“It must be understood that when a vicious animal is your vis-h-vis, the 
duel has commenced, and your shot must be delivered as ‘ a settler.’ If you 
miss, or if the shot be uncertain in its effect, the buffalo will in most instances 
charge. The charge of a buffalo is a very serious matter. Many animals charge 
when infuriated, but they can generally be turned by a shot, though they may 
not be mortally wounded. But a buffalo is a devil incarnate when it has once 
decided upon the offensive. Nothing will then turn it; it must be actually 
stopped by death, sudden and instantaneous, as nothing else will stop it. If 
not killed it will assuredly destroy its adversary. There is no creature in ex- 
istence that is so determined to stamp out the life of its opponent. Should it 
succeed in overthrowing its antagonist, it will not only gore the body with its 
horns, but it will try to tear it to pieces, and will kneel upon the lifeless form, 
and stamp on it with its hoofs until the mutilated remains are disfigured beyond 
recognition. I have killed some hundreds of these animals, and I never regret 
their destruction, as they are usually vicious and most dangerous brutes, whose 
ferocity is totally uncalled for.” 

Perhaps Sir S. Baker carries his enmity to the buffalo a little too far, for it 
must not be forgotten that the courage and strength of the buffalo make it a 
dangerous enemy to the prowling tiger, while one of his own pictures shows us 
a wounded bull buffalo fighting desperately against three lions that attacked it. 
It is curious that the American buffalo or bison, which is a much more terrific 
animal than the African buffalo in its appearance, should be of an entirely dif- 
ferent character, so that Sir S. Baker describes it as “ a perfectly harmless 
creature, which will never offend unless previously attacked.” — Longman's Mag- 
azine. 

Fraud in Diamonds.— Considerable attention has been directed to the 
tricks of the diamond trade in Paris by the investigation of the charge that a 
firm of diamond-dealers had “ doctored” yellowish diamonds from the Cape so 
that they could be sold as gems of the first water. The illegitimate proceeds 
of the firm from this practice are estimated at a million pounds. The Paris 
professor of chemistry Berthelot has shed some light upon the matter. “ The 
‘ painting’ of diamonds,” he says, “ is a trick known to all dealers in diamonds. 
I am surprised that these men allowed themselves to be caught so easily. To 
give yellowish Cape diamonds the appearance of white Brazilian or Indian 
diamonds, a man has only to dip them in aniline blue. The process resembles 
the blueing of clothes by the washerwoman, and was discovered about ten years 
ago. The operation is so simple that not a few Paris women practise it. They 
buy cheap diamonds and touch them up, just before wearing them out, in an 
aniline bath. The appearance of the doctored diamonds deceives even the ex- 
perts at the first glance. The layer of color wears off quickly, however, and the 
fraud is then evident. The difference between Cape diamonds and the Brazilian 
or Indian diamonds, which is the basis of the fraud, consists in the greater 
beauty and clearness of the latter, as well as in their greater durability. Yellow 
diamonds break easily.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


141 








142 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Consumption Cured. — An old physician, retired from practice, had placed 
in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple vegetable 
remedy for the speedy and permanent cure of Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, 
Asthma, and all Throat and Lung Affections, also a positive and radical cure for 
Nervous Debility and all Nervous Complaints. Having tested its wonderful 
curative powers in thousands of cases, and desiring to relieve human suffering, 
I will send, free of charge, to all who wish it, this recipe in German, French, 
or English, with full directions for preparing and using. Sent by mail, by ad- 
dressing with stamp, naming this magazine, W. A. Noyes, 820 Powers’ Block, 
Rochester , N. Y 

Artists’ Errors. — During and just after the Crimean war a popular ac- 
count of that unfortunate struggle was published in monthly parts, illustrated 
with steel engravings. I happened to be in a printing-office where one of these 
serials was manufactured, and after I had been watching the working off of a 
steel plate the foreman gave me one of the impressions. Returning home by 
omnibus, I found myself seated opposite to a soldier, and put the engraving into 
his hands. He surveyed it with a critical eye, frowned, and exclaimed, “What 
in the world are the men in the trenches doing with their knapsacks on ? I never 
heard of such a thing in all my life !” Now, here was a man speaking on a sub- 
ject with full knowledge, and with crushing criticism. The only idea the artist 
had of a soldier was a man with a knapsack on his back and a musket in his 
hand. He had never seen soldiers in the trenches, and so he misleads every one 
who buys his blundering performance . — Notes and Queries. 


Testimonials from thousands of wearers of the Genuine Guyot Suspenders 
are superlatively convincing that both for comfort and supreme practicability 
they are unsurpassed. Until a man has had the experience of having each pair 
of trousers always ready suspendered with the Genuine Guyots he does not know 
the real value of the word comfort. 


The Home of the Merciful Saviour for Crippled Children, 4400 Baltimore 
Avenue, West Philadelphia, incorporated in 1882, takes children without board 
or entrance fee, gives best surgical and medical attendance, and trades where 
the health will permit. It is supported by voluntary offerings. Permanent 
endowment of bed $4000. Yearly support of bed $200. Those wishing to aid 
in the work will address Mrs. Robert F. Innes, Treasurer, Philadelphia. 


United States 


Office of 

& Pacific Express Cos., 
Detroit, Mich. 


National Shoe Rest Co.: 

Dear Sirs,— The large number of Shoe-Rests being sent out by you 
through this office is conclusive evidence of its popularity. It, doubtless, is the 
best thing of its kind now before the public, and it affords me pleasure to see 
that your efforts are being rewarded. 

Yours truly, 

John McFall, Agent. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


143 


“Nothing in the World Like It. 


ff 






r ///'/:(//; I vi \ \ vC v\ N \ x^i 

Mo much h&s \ 

been said in the news- 
- pap ers about the c o / or of 
mph&i h l de em it b u t jus t 
to sap it is MffThi pe ria 


V • 

♦ o'/ 

n * 

'fr 

* 


Ha ir regenerator - wk i ch / 
have been, and. ant now using 
l beli eve th ffe is no th in cj 
in the. world Hr tide hair 
'Ml ike it" / ■ 

. sfldeliba Patti Nicolini. 


* ^ 


\\. \M I/// 


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Vo 


Every shade of hair is produced by the IMPERIAL HAIR REGENER- 
ATOR, and the beautiful natural lustre of youth it leaves on the hair defies 
detection. It is unaffected by Russian, Salt Water, or any other baths, and is 
guaranteed to be perfectly harmless. Society ladies of this country use it to 
the exclusion of all others, and it has the endorsement of the Court Hair- 
dressers. Ladies should send sample of hair and have it regenerated to the 
Patti, Cleopatra, Valti, or any other shade free. Sold at $1.50 and $3.00. Re- 
fuse all substitutes, as they are dangerous. Imperial Chemical Manufacturing 
Co., 54 West 23d Street, New York. 


144 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Polo. — There is a popular idea that polo is a very ancient Indian game. 
Mr. Moray Brown tells us that, with regard to “ the question of when or where 
polo was first introduced into British India/’ there can be “ but little doubt that 
it was first played in British territory in Cachar in 1854-55.” Indeed, according 
to Jonathan Scott, Oriental Professor to the East India and the Royal Military 
Colleges, it was played in our own familiar Pall Mall long before it was ever 
played in India. Pietro della Valle calls chavgdn, or polo, “palla maglia,” 
and this may have been the origin of Scott’s assertion. A great deal has been 
written and said lately about Munnipore having been the birthplace of polo; 
but, although Mr. Moray Brown himself calls it “ the cradle of Indian polo,” he 
thinks that the game must have been introduced into Munnipore from Tartary, , 
“ for it is distinctly of Tartar origin.” 

The game was really introduced into England through the medium of a 
newspaper. In the year 1869 a subaltern in the Tenth Hussars was reading 
about its being played by the Munniporees in his newspaper at Aldershot, when 
he said, “ By Jove ! it must be a goodish game. I vote we try it.” And try 
it they did, with a billiard-ball and crooked sticks, and mounted on their 
chargers. In most Eastern countries it is called chavgdn. In Munnipore it is 
known as Mn-jai-bazte, and the English word “ polo” is derived from pulu [i.e., 
a ball made from the knot of willow wood), which is the name given to the 
game in Thibet. A manuscript in the British Museum of a poem by a Persian 
poet of the tenth century not only mentions the game, but gives a very quaint 
illustration of it, which is copied in this book. Polo is said to have been played 
in Japan in the year 727 a.d., and a historian of the tenth century says that 
King Darius, “ who lived 525 b.c.,” sent a polo stick and ball to Alexander the 
Great “ as instruments of sport better suited to his youth and inexperience than 
warlike occupations.” Whereupon Alexander replied that the ball was the 
earth, and he (Alexander) was the stick. Alexander the Great is not generally 
supposed to have been born until 356 B.c., but never mind — there was more 
than one King Darius. Eastern magnates seem to have played polo occasionally 
with human heads, and the poet Hafiz writes, “ May the heads of your enemies 
be your chavgan balls !” — Saturday Review. 


The Curdling of Milk in Thunder-Storms. — The curdling of milk 
during thunder-storms has been the subject of an investigation by Prof. Tolomei, 
an Italian chemist (see Biedermann’s Centralblatt fur Agriculturchemie). He 
arrives at the conclusion that the ozone produced by the electric discharges co- 
agulates the milk by oxidizing it, and generates lactic acid. On the other hand, 
dairy-keepers find that if the milk is kept cold there is no rapid souring in 
a thunder-storm. From this it would appear that heat has as much to do 
with the souring as electricity. Mr. A. L. Treadwell, of the Wesleyan Uni- 
versity, Connecticut, has recently made further experiments on the subject, and 
arrives at the conclusion that, while milk under the influence of oxygen and 
ozone coagulates earlier than when left alone, it does not do so if it has been 
sterilized and kept from contact with unfiltered air. He therefore thinks that 
the action is not a mere oxidation, as Tolomei supposes, but is in part produced 
by the growth of bacteria, which is very rapid in hot sultry weather. The 
bacteria of milk are aerobic, and free oxygen or ozone would therefore, he 
thinks, foster their development. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


145 


“We are advertised by our loving friends.” 

King Henry VI. 

A Mellin’s Food Girl. 



MISS LOUISA HELEN SMITH, Westfield, Mass. 

Our book for the instruction of mothers, “The Care and Feeding of 
Infants,” will be mailed free to any address upon request. 

THE DO LIBER-GOO DALE CO., Boston, Mass. 


Vol. XLIX.— 10 



146 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Andrew Lang. — “ Andrew Lang is tall, thin, dark, and his hair is turning 
gray,” says a London correspondent of the Kansas City Star. “ You sometimes 
hear him spoken of as ‘ one of the younger writers.’ He is forty-seven. When 
he talks he drawls in the Oxford fashion. When he laughs he sets your teeth 
on edge. He has not much reverence, but he is a firm believer in the trinity — 
Andrew Lang, Molikre, and Shakespeare. All other persons and things are 
tolerated by him rather than endorsed. He believes that Shakespeare’s plays are 
to be read and not to be acted, and his canon of criticism seems to be, ‘ When- 
ever you see an author, hit him.’ Lang is one of the men with no sense of 
loyalty to the profession of authorship, and yet we know what a delightful 
author he can be without half trying. He enjoys running amuck at the whole 
‘ profession,’ unless exception be made, for some occult reason, in the person of 
Mr. Rider Haggard. Lang loves to jeer and flout at other authors, but no one 
suspects him of malice : it is only his way. He writes charming editorials, or 
‘ leaders’ as they call them here, on literary subjects in the Daily News , and in 
them he vents his serene displeasure at will. Lang is never terrible when he 
attacks. Those who know him do not take his assaults seriously, but find, in- 
stead, a peculiar diversion in them. Nothing brings out such a show of anger 
in Andrew Lang as a gathering of authors, whether for purposes festive or finan- 
cial. He cannot agree that there should be any fraternity among authors. 
There is good reason that they should be kicked and beaten, he thinks, or, at the 
very least, satirized in the Daily News. Therefore he never loses an opportunity 
to amuse the public at the expense of the Authors’ Society or the proposed 
Authors’ Club. ‘ Why should there be an incorporated society of authors?’ he 
asks, as if he would remind us of a fact (for which we may be thankful) that 
there is not an incorporated society of Andrew Langs. As for the club, he is 
sure that it will be used chiefly by novices who wish to look upon the persons 
of distinguished authors, — which, I take it, is another way of saying that Mr. 
Andrew Lang objects to being stared at. However, if authors must have an 
oracle, it is well that they should have such an accomplished one as Mr. Lang, 
who would not willingly do harm.” 


An Expensive Sonata. — Wagner, when a young man, wrote a sonata 
which had a fair amount of success; but in after-life he made every effort to 
suppress it. Going to the publisher, he said, “ Have you any copies of that 
miserable thing of mine still unsold?” “Yes,” was the reply, “I have quite 
a number of them in stock.” “ Send them to me at once, with a bill,” said the 
composer. A thousand copies were soon afterwards delivered at his door. The 
bill was a big one, but it was paid, somewhat grudgingly, and Wagner thought 
he had done with the matter. Great was his surprise therefore at receiving, 
two or three months later, another consignment, numbering five hundred copies. 
“I thought you had only a thousand of these things?” he protested. “That 
was all I had in stock,” explained the dealer; “but these have been returned 
by my agents, to whom I wrote that you wished to have the sonata suppressed.” 
Wagner winced ; but there was nothing for it but to pay the bill. And there- 
after, whenever business was dull with this crafty publisher, a few hundred 
copies of the sonata would be struck off on shop-worn paper and delivered at 
the composer’s door, with a memorandum to the effect that they had just come 
back from remote places whither they had been sent for sale. 


CURRENT NOTES . 


147 


BAD TASTE. 

If cod-liver oil were as pleasant as cream there 
wouldn’t be codfish enough in the sea. 

And there wouldn’t be any diseases of thinness. 

What are diseases of thinness ? 

Consumption is the worst of them, and the best 
example of them. They are the diseases in which 
we say, not to, but of, our friend: “ He is not look- 
ing well; he is thin.” We feel the importance of 
the loss of fat, though we do not get the full sig- 
nificance of it. 

The time to treat thinness is when it is nothing 
but thinness. If cod-liver oil were in every-day 
use as a common food, this thinness might get cor- 
rected without a thought. But cod-liver oil, though 
it really is a food, is medicine too ; and this might 
limit its use even if it were as sweet as cream. 

We cannot take out the taste; we cover it up. 
We shake th6 oil with glycerine till it is broken 
into drops as fine as water-drops in fog. The 
glycerine wraps itself around these tiny drops and 
keeps them apart; it also keeps the oil from touch- 
ing the tongue. This is how the taste gets lost; 
and this is Scott’s Emulsion. 

The lost taste is more than comfort gained. A 
weak stomach cannot digest what it loathes. 

An important book on CAREFUL LIVING will be sent free if you write for it to Scot^ & Bowne, 
Chemists, 132 South Fifth Avenue, New York. 

Scott’s Emulsionjpf cod-liver oil, at any drug-store, $1. 


148 


CURRENT NOTES. 


In Finland. — In no other European state, not even in Sweden and Norway, 
are life aqd property so secure as in Finland. The confident matter-of-fact way 
in which trunks, parcels, and portmanteaus are left for hours in the public 
streets of cities without any one to look after them could not fail to edify an 
Englishman or a Belgian, whose portable property often seems to disappear by 
magic. “ On arriving at Helsingfors or Abo by sea,” says an English writer, 
“ I have myself occasionally left my trunk on the quay for a couple of hours, 
till the departure of the next train, meanwhile taking a drive in the country 
around ; and, although on one occasion my portmanteau was not even locked, I 
never lost anything. In the country districts the houses are for the most part 
unbolted, unbarred, and unlocked. More than once in my excursions I have 
come up to a house the occupants of which were miles away at the time, and 
yet not a door of it was bolted or barred. Then, again, it is no uncommon 
thing for a blooming girl of seventeen or a young married woman to drive alone 
in her cart a distance of fifty or sixty miles, through dense forests and by the 
shores of gloomy lakes, conveying the family’s butter, cheese, and eggs to 
market, in town, and then to return home alone with the proceeds. Finnish 
honesty is proverbial. In trade the Finns, as a rule, are not only scrupulously 
honest, they are heroically, quixotically so. A tradesman will tell you the 
whole truth about his wares, even when he knows perfectly well that by doing 
so he loses a customer whom the partial truth, a slight suppression, would have 
secured him. ‘ This seems exactly the kind of apparatus I am looking for,’ I 
said to a merchant in Helsingfors some months ago, in reference to an article 
that cost about fifteen pounds, ‘and I will buy it at once if, knowing what I 
want it for, you can honestly recommend me to take it.’ ‘ No, sir, I do not rec- 
ommend you to take it, nor have I anything in stock just now that would suit 
you.’ And I left the shop and purchased what I wanted elsewhere. ‘Here’s 
your fare,’ I said to a peasant in the interior, who had driven me for three hours 
through the woods on his drosky, handing him four shillings. ‘ No, sir, that’s 
double my fare,’ he replied, returning me half the money. And, when I told 
him he might keep it for his honesty, he nodded his thanks with the dignity of 
one of nature’s gentlemen, from which defiant pride and cringing obsequious- 
ness were equally absent. 


Book Notices. — The novelists mainly regret that they are noticed in 
batches of six or eight, while essays and histories often, get a separate review. 
But novelists, who, by the way, do not always grumble in grammar, should re- 
member that they are very numerous. Each week does not produce eight his- 
tories, or even eight volumes of essays, but eight novels are a not unusual har- 
vest : perhaps sixteen new novels to the week is the common average. Of the 
yearly eight hundred, perhaps ten are really excellent. Were I an editor 
(■ unberufen ), methinks I would give the good novels a separate article, and 
even, perhaps, extend the privilege of an exclusive pillory to very bad novels 
by very well known hands. Whether this would make the well-known but 
erring hands happier is another question. But novelists must remember that 
if only one column apiece were given to each novel, the whole paper would 
not contain what must be written on a topic of the scantiest public interest. — 
Andrew Lang , in Longman’ 8 Magazine. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


149 





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y ' ECZEMA ANOfluS* 
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NEW YORK, N. Y. 

AGENTS WANTED. MENTION THIS paper. 


150 


CURRENT NOTES . 


The “ Seven Wonders” of Corea. — Corea, like the world of the ancients, 
has its “ seven wonders.” Briefly stated in a China paper, they are as follows. 
First, a hot mineral spring near Kin-Shantao, the healing properties of which 
are believed by the people to be miraculous. No matter what disease may afflict 
the patient, a dip in the water proves efficacious. The second wonder is two 
springs situated at a considerable distance from each other, — in fact, they have 
the breadth of the entire peninsula between them. They have two peculiarities : 
when one is full the Qther is always empty, and, notwithstanding the obvious 
fact that they are connected by a subterranean passage, one is bitter and the 
other pure and sweet. The third wonder is a cold-wave cave, — a cavern from 
which a wintry wind perpetually blows. The force of the wind from the cave is 
such that a strong man cannot stand before it. A forest that cannot be eradicated 
is the fourth wonder. No matter what injury is done to the roots of the trees, 
which are large pines, they will sprout up again directly, like the phoenix from 
her ashes. The fifth is the most wonderful of all. It is the famous “ floating 
stone.” It stands, or seems to stand, in front of the palace erected in its honor. 
It is an irregular cube of great bulk. It appears to be resting on the ground 
free from supports on all sides; but, strange to say, two men at opposite ends 
of a rope may pass it under the stone without encountering any obstacle. The 
sixth wonder is the “ hot stone,” which from remote ages has lain glowing with 
heat on the top of a high hill. The seventh and last Corean wonder is a drop 
of the sweat of Buddha. For thirty paces around the large temple in which it 
is enshrined not a blade of grass will grow. There are no trees or flowers inside 
the sacred square. Even the animals decline to profane a spot so holy. 


Something about Tea. — That its use was universal is borne out by one 
of the maxims of Confucius, the wisest man of China, when he said, “ Be good 
and courteous to all, even to the stranger from other lands. If he say unto thee 
that he thirsteth, give unto him a cup of warm tea without money and without 
price.” 

At the time of Buddha, China was enjoying a large foreign commerce in 
tea. It was carried by her junks to Japan, Corea, Tonquin, Anam, Cochin, 
Burmah, Siam, India, Ceylon, Persia, and Arabia. According to one record, it 
was sent to a great flat river country west of Arabia, from which it was separated 
by a long and very torrid sea, which must have been Egypt. It was carried by 
caravans to Manchuria, Mongolia, Kuldja, Tartary, Thibet, Persia, and Northern 
India. 

This commerce flourished during centuries, and culminated in the dynasties 
of Hung-Tung and Tung-Chi, about 1600 a.d. 

From this time there was a slow but steady decline to the reign of the 
present sovereign, Kwang-Hsu. In the past twenty years the decline has been 
something terrible, the trade to-day being scarcely one-quarter of what it was 
in 1870. The outlook is not promising to the tea-planter and patriot in any 
respect. In every district the industry is on the verge of bankruptcy. The 
demand from abroad yearly diminishes, the people themselves are taking to other 
beverages, while the taxation necessary to government, which in the former 
years of prosperity was a mere trifle, now threatens utter extinction of the 
trade . — Philadelphia Times. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


151 


"The weary brain requires some nerve-sustaining element as food.” — Herbert Spencer. 

CROSBY’S VITALIZED PHOSPHITES. 


IS A 
Special 
Food 
For 



The 

Brain 

And 

Nerves. 


There is nothing that so effectually restores the failing powers of the brain 
and nervous system as this Brain Food, prepared from the vital principle of the 
ox-brain and wheat-germ. It is not a “ patent medicine the formula is given, 
and is approved by leading physicians, who have for thirty years prescribed 
Crosby’s Vitalized Phosphites for the relief of all nervous diseases and bodily 
weaknesses. It strengthens the intellect, restores lost vigor, sustains in activity 
mental and physical powers, prevents nervous prostration. It is the best known 
preventive of consumption. Descriptive pamphlet free, on application to us. 
For sale by most druggists. Sent by mail ($1) from 56 West 25th Street, New 
York. 

Avoid substitutes. None genuine without this 
signature printed on the label, 



Asthma Cured to Stay Cured.— Our Theses for ’91 report fifty cases of 
Asthma and Hay Fever. Of these, Mr. Mills has stayed cured Eleven Years ! 
Mr. Sawyer has stayed cured Seven Years! Others have stayed cured from 
Four to Six Years. These patients testify from personal experience that Asthma 
and Hay Fever can be cured to stay cured. Folders Nos. 1, 2, and 3 give re- 
ports from one hundred and eighty-five other patients, in their own words, many 
of whose cases are no less remarkable than those given in the Theses. We re- 
ceive hundreds of similar reports. Theses, Folders, Examination Papers, and : 
full information sent free on application. Mention this magazine. We will be glad 
to examine the case of any sufferer, and render, without charge , our opinion as 
to its curability. 

P. Harold Hayes, M.D., Buffalo, N.Y., Box 451. 

Bird-Manna ! — The great secret of the canary-breeders 
of the Hartz Mountains, Germany. Bird-Manna will restore 
the song of cage-birds, will prevent their ailments, and restore 
them to good condition. If given during the season of shedding 
feathers it will, in most cases, carry the little musician through 
this critical period without loss of song. Sent by mail on re- 
ceipt of 15 cents in stamps. Sold by Druggists. Directions free. 

Bird Food Company, 400 North Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



152 


CURRENT NOTES. 


At the Rehearsal. — They were going over the second act of a dramatic 
gem which revelled in the title of “ A Bunch of Beets.” 

“ Miss Shannon,” said the stage manager, “ you’ll have to cut that speech.” 

“ Not on your life. It’s the only one I’ve got.” 

“Say, what do you think this is?— a play? You cut that speech and do a 
dance instead. Murphy and Doonan ! Where’s Murphy and Doonan ?” 

“ Here.” 

“ I’ve put your knock-about act at the end, to bring down the curtain. You 
can do it in black face or not, just as you please. And see here, I don’t want 
any more of that baseball bat business ! You whack each other with good old- 
fashioned flap-sticks. Now let’s get back to the scene. What’s the cue?” 

“ I’m a James dandy and a loo-loo from St. Louis,” said the third assistant 
deputy soubrette. 

“Ah, yes. Now, Mr. Henley, you enter through the practicable window 
R. C., see Mr. Drew in the act of concealing the axe, and remark, ‘ Pipe his 
jagsteps.’ ” 

“ But the book says, ‘ Get onto his nobs,’ ” protested Mr. Henley. 

“ Don’t you bother about the book. The next thing’ll be that you’ll try to 
act, and just let me catch you at it ! You do a specialty with Drew, three songs 
and a breakdown, and go off. Miss Monroe, you follow with ‘’Twas but a 
Little Faded Flower.’ ” 

“ I don’t know it.” 

“That settles it. You’re the seventh. Everybody to-morrow at eleven, 
and those who aren’t letter perfect in their specialties will get two weeks’ 
notice !” 

Thus is the American stage enriched beyond the dreams of artistic avarice. 
— New York Commercial Advertiser. 

Sago. — The native name of sago-palm in Borneo is “rumbiah.” These 
palms grow from twenty to fifty feet, generally along the banks of rivers and in 
swampy land. There are two kinds, Metroxylon Iceve and Metroxylon Rumphii. 
The latter is especially favored by nature by being naturally protected from its 
incessant enemy and devourer the wild pig. It is armed with strong long 
spikes; and in cultivating sago nothing but good strong fences will keep out 
these burglars of the forest, for where they are bent on sago it takes a good deal 
to stop them and keep them out. Sago is a leading feature in Borneo ; seven- 
eighths of the supply to Europe come from that country. Three trees supply 
more nutritive matter than an acre of wheat, and six trees more than an acre 
of potatoes. The sago is obtained from the heart of the palm in the following 
manner. Just before the terminal spike of the inflorescence appears, which 
grows to four or five feet in length about six or eight years after planting, the 
palm is cut down at the root, divided into lengths to suit the manipulator, each 
length split in two, when the pith is scooped or dug out with bamboo hoes, a 
thin skin or rind only being left. The pith is placed in mats over a trough or 
canoe by the water-side, and, water being constantly poured over it and trodden 
out by the natives, a rough separation of the starchy matter from the pithy, 
woody matter is arrived at, and the former runs off into troughs below, while 
the latter remains on the mat for the pigs, etc. The raw sago is sold to the 
Chinese, who put it through many washings and send it to Singapore, and 
thence it finally reaches England. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


153 


Put to the Proof. 


We claim 

That Cleveland? s is a pure cream 
of tartar baking powder , free 
from ammonia, alum, and all 
adulterants ; its true composition 
being printed on every label. 


Others claim 

That theirs is “ absolutely pure,” 
though containing the drug am- 
monia, but they are afraid to let 
the public know all the ingred- 
ients used. 


Find out for yourself whether your baking powder is adul- 
terated with ammonia by making the following 

Housekeeper’s Test : Mix one hea P in s teaspoonfui of baking 

powder with one spoonful of water in a 
tin cup ; boil thoroughly for a few moments, stir to prevent burning ; if am- 
monia is present you can smell it in the rising steam. As baking powder, when 
first thrown into water, will effervesce, do not mistake bubbling for boiling. 

In the laboratory and in the kitchen, 
Cleveland’s Baking Powder Stands all Tests. 


Dr. W. H. Morse, of the Electro-Medical Institute, New York, replied to 
inquiry made by New England Farmer, Boston, whether it was possible to 
make an electric soap, “ In Dobbins’s Electric Soap electricity certainly plays 
a part. It is a remarkably pure article, of excellent quality. It contains no 
soda or potash, apparently; refusing to turn red with phenol-phthalein. Thus 
the neutralizing property of electricity is apparent ; and the presence of alkalies 
not being manifest, the soap has the effect of not drying skin, hair, and nails as 
alkaline soaps do.” 

Electricity performs wonders nowadays, and adds to our comfort, con- 
venience, and welfare in very many ways, but in nothing is it more wonderful 
than Dobbins’s Electric Soap is in its speedy attack upon dirt, wherever found, 
and in its absolute powerlessness to injure fabric or skin. Ask your grocer for 
it. Take no substitute. I. L. Cragin & Co., 

Philadelphia, Pa. 


Thurston’s Ivory Pearl Tooth-Powder. — Keeps teeth perfect and 
gums healthy. Orris and Wintergreen. Pink and white colors. Always used 
when once tried. For sale at all druggists’, and 224 William Street, New York. 


Blair’s Pills. — Great English Remedy for Gout and Rheumatism. Sure, 
prompt, and effective. Large box 34, small 14 Pills. For sale at all drug- 
gists’, and 224 William Street, New York. 


154 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Two Foes of the Turk. — The Turkish government has no friends, 
and two irreconcilable foes, Russia and the Arab race. The hatred of Russia, 
which has lasted all through modern history, is well understood in England ; 
but the hatred of the Arabs, owing to the seclusion of Arabia, and to the pre- 
conceived notion, which is absurdly false, that all Mussulmans pull together, 
escapes the general attention. The Ottomans, and especially their ruling house, 
consider it, however, the more dangerous hatred of the two. They could, in 
the last resort, accept the protectorate of Russia, which has been repeatedly 
offered them, and so continue for some years to rule a great though subordinate 
empire. They know, too, that they must quit Europe in the end, care only to 
plunder their remaining European provinces, and, but for their admiration for 
Constantinople and its historic charm as the centre of their old dominion, they 
would probably retire voluntarily to Broussa, where twice within the present 
half-century everything has been prepared for the Sultan. 

The Arabs, however, if they revolted successfully, would deprive the Otto- 
mans, not of Europe, but of Asia and Africa, and either destroy the Great Horde 
altogether, or drive them back into the desert or into Persia, where they might 
commence a new career. The Arabs have never forgotten that Islam was first 
revealed to them ; that they were the first masters of the Mussulman world ; 
and that their rule created glowing though temporary civilizations, and left its 
impress so deep upon all Mussulman history and legend that, with an exception 
or two, it is only their personages round whom myths have grown. The great- 
est of the Sultans is nothing in Mussulmans’ memory compared with Haroun- 
al-Raschid. 

The Arabs do not at heart acknowledge — indeed, some millions of them for- 
mally deny — that any “ Toork” can be the legitimate Khalif ; and they cherish 
a conviction that in God’s good time the power of those whom they think bar- 
barians will come to a visible end. Of late years, too, they have been ready to 
hasten that end, and had Arabi been let alone, or had the Mahdi been victo- 
rious, all Arabia would have risen, and the Ottoman power would probably have 
ended, as it began, in blood. — Spectator. 

The Suez Canal. — A most ingenious system exists by which the director 
at Port Said can tell at a glance the exact position of all the vessels in the Suez 
Canal, and thus decide how their passages are to be arranged. The director has 
a model of the canal before him, the whole canal being worked from head-quarters 
by means of the telegraph. When a vessel enters the canal from either end, the 
intelligence is wired to the office, and a figure to represent it is placed on the 
model. Its movements are communicated from each station it reaches, and, 
whenever it is necessary for vessels to pass each other, notice is sent to the 
station, which signals to the particular one indicated to tie up” for the 
purpose. 

The Prussian Army.— The Prussian army, properly so called, is officered 
by four field- marshals, three colonel-generals of cavalry and one of infantry, 
61 full generals of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, 81 lieutenant-generals, and 
147 major-generals, making a total of 297 general officers on active service. 
The number of field and subalterh officers on active service is 13,601, in addi- 
tion to 407 in the gendarmerie and the military establishments, while there are 
395 recruiting-officers, 7227 officers of reserve, and 8371 of Landwehr, making 
a grand total of over 30,000. 


CURRENT NOTES 


155 





OR FHCE GLOVE. 


The following are the claims made for Madame Rowley’s Toilet 
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for Beautifying, Bleaching, and Preserving the Complexion : 



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tute FOR INJURIOUS COS- 
METICS. 

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fraudulent appliances used 
for conveying cosmetics, 
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to night, and it bears no 
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15th. The Mask has received 
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8th. The Mask may be worn 
with perfect privacy , if de- 
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cannot detect that it has 
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llth. Hundreds of dollars 
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the testimony of well-known society and professional ladies, who proclaim 
for beautifying purposes ever offered to womankind. 


The Toilet Mask or Face Glove 
in position to the face. 

To be worn 3 times in the week. 


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“I find it removes freckles, tan, sunburn, and 
gives the complexion a soft, smooth surface.” 


“ I have worn the mask but two weeks, and am 
amazed at the change it has made in my appear- 
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“ The Mask certainly acts upon the skin with a 
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Valuable Illustrated Pamphlet, with proofs and full particulars, mailed free by 

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mention “ Lippincott’s Magazine .” 



156 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Braggart. — The boasting officer in Greek and Latin plays was copied 
from life. He was a well-known figure at Athens in the fourth and third cen- 
turies before Christ. In the wine-taverns and barbers’ shops of the Piraeus, 
mercenary captains, returned from service with Antigonus and Seleucus, told 
stories of their exploits which turned home-keeping Athenian liars pale with 
envy. The true method of ridiculing a lie is to tell a greater one ; and as the 
falsehoods of these gentlemen were so very extravagant, the comedians who 
satirized them were obliged to invent stories which transcended all possibility. 
Hence Pyrgopolinices is described as being only prevented by the bluntness of 
his sword from killing five hundred Cappadocians at one blow. Hence Anthe- 
monides in the “ Pcenulus” describes how he annihilated a tribe of flying men. 

These exaggerations are too crude to be amusing, and Terence prefers to 
make his boastful soldier brag of his wit rather than of his prowess in war. 
Bobadil, in Ben Jonson’s “Every Man in his Humor,” is, after Falstaflf, the 
best known of the characters which our comedy owes to the ancient type. But 
he is derived from Thraso rather than from Pyrgopolinices. With Thraso dis- 
cretion is the better part of valor. Bobadil is an arrant coward as well as a 
boaster. Thraso is vain of his wit. Bobadil admires poetry, and seems to have 
a taste foj* criticism. He possesses more individuality than the stock soldiers of 
the ancient comedy. He is frugal and sober. His lies all have an apparent 
show of reason. His plan of getting nineteen gentlemen, and teaching them 
fencing till they “ would all play very near or altogether as well as himself,” 
of challenging and killing twenty a day, until in two hundred days they had 
annihilated the whole enemy, forty thousand strong, is put forward with the 
utmost gravity and apparent seriousness. Two minutes afterwards he is chal- 
lenged and beaten by Downright, being so paralyzed with fear that he is unable 
to draw his sword. 

Besides Falstaff, Shakespeare may have been influenced to some extent by 
the ancient type in drawing Armado, Parolles, and Pistol. Other well-known 
characters in the English drama are Lilly’s Sir Tophas in “ Endymion that 
professional coward, Captain Bessus, in Beaumont and Fletcher’s “ A King and 
No King;” and Congreve’s Captain Bluffe, in the “ Old Bachelor,” with his oath 
of mickle might, “By the immortal thunder of great guns.”— The Quarterly 
Review. 


Some Old-Time Newspapers. — The oldest newspaper in the collection 
brought together in the exhibition at Cologne, of the early triumphs of the 
printing-press, dates from 1529. It describes the entrance of the Roman em- 
peror into Bologna, and tells how his Papal Holiness met his Imperial Majesty 
on that august occasion. The next oldest gives an account of the overflow of 
the Tiber in 1530. Other newspapers, coming down to 1614, tell of wars with 
the Turks, the attacking of cities, and other remarkable events. There are 
fourteen of these sixteenth-century papers, and all except two consist of four 
small quarto leaves. The latest was evidently a campaign extra, got up to add 
glory to the King of Spain. It has a formidable title, which runs thus : “ True 
Newspaper, describing hbw the Mighty King of Spain has late acquired, in the 
East Indies, an Incalculable Treasure worth many hundreds of millions, the 
like of which has never been heard of before.” The precious boomerang was 
issued from the press of Peter von Brachel, in Cologne.— /$. Louis Stationer. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


157 



N. K. FAIRBANK & CO., Sole Manufacturers, 

CHICAGO, ST. LOUIS, NEW YORK. PHILADELPHIA, BOSTON, 
BALTIMORE, NEW ORLEANS, SAN FRANCISCO, 

PORTLAND, ME. PORTLAND, ORE., PITTSBURGH AND MILWAUKEE. 


Theobroma. — The ancients understood what a delicious article the product 
of the cocoa bean was, for when they came to name the tree on which it grew 
they called it Theo-Broma, or God’s food. This is certainly a wonderful tribute 
to the early knowledge of this now so justly famous article of diet. The cocoa 
(or more properly cacao) tree is essentially an American product. A peculiar 
fact in reference to the growth of this article of commerce is, that upon the 
same tree all at once are found bud, blossom, and fruit, and this process con- 
tinues all the year round. It is true, however, that there are two seasons when 
a specially large and choice crop is gathered, — in June and December. The 
fruit is allowed to sweat or ferment for a time, and is then dried and shipped to 
Holland, where the best beans are used by Van Houten & Zoon, of Weesp, to 
make the most delicious and healthful cocoa that is sold on the European and 
American markets. The problems of making this luxuriant, rich, and fatty 
bean a healthful article of diet were many and difficult, but they were most 
successfully solved by Mr. C. J. Van Houten, who is the inventor of soluble 
cocoa, and his process is still by far the best in producing a healthful cocoa, 
easily assimilated and at the same time most delicious in flavor and aroma. 
Van Houten’s Cocoa, “best and goes farthest,” has become a household word in 
America as well as all over Europe, and wherever it is once tried it is used 
always. 


158 


CURRENT NOTES. 


An Exciting Adventure. — A recent number of The Englishman (Cal- 
cutta) relates a most exciting adventure with a snake in a mess-room. Dinner 
was just finished, and several English officers were sitting around the table. 
The conversation had not been animated, and there came a lull, as the night 
was too hot for small-talk. The major of the regiment, a clean-cut man of 
fifty-five, turned towards his next neighbor at the table, a young subaltern, who 
was leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, staring 
through the cigar-smoke at the ceiling. The major was slowly looking the man 
over, from his handsome face down, when, with sudden alertness and in a quiet 
steady voice, he said, “ Don’t move, please, Mr. Carrutliers. I want to try an 
experiment with you. Don’t move a muscle.” “ All right, major,” replied the 
subaltern, without even turning his eyes; “hadn’t the least idea of moving, 
assure you ! What’s the game?” By this time all the others were listening in 
a lazily expectant way. “ Do you think,” continued the major, — and his voice 
trembled just a little, — “ that you can keep absolutely still, for, say, two minutes 
— to save your life?” “Are you joking?” “ On the contrary, move a muscle 
and you are a dead man. Can you stand the strain ?” The subaltern barely 
whispered “Yes,” and his face paled slightly. “Burke,” said the major, ad- 
dressing an officer across the table, “ pour some of that milk into a saucer, and 
set it on the floor here just at the back of me. Gently, man ! Quiet !” Not a 
word was spoken as the officer quietly filled the saucer, walked with it carefully 
around the table, and set it down where the major had indicated on the floor. 
Like a marble statue sat the young subaltern in his white linen clothes, while a 
cobra di capello which had been crawling up the leg of his trousers slowly 
raised its head, then turned, descended to the floor, and glided towards the milk. 
Suddenly the silence was broken by the report of the major’s revolver, and the 
snake lay dead on the floor. “ Thank you, major,” said the subaltern, as the 
two men shook hands warmly: “you have saved my life!” “You’re welcome, 
my boy,” replied the senior; “ but you did your share.” 

Good Books or Penny Dreadfuls for Children. — “ Good books for 
the young,” — that is a stock phrase. “The influence of vicious literature upon 
the masses,” — that is another. Then there is that black bogey, “ the penny 
dreadful.” When I was young — I am not ashamed to own it — I read every- 
thing. I read every “ penny dreadful” I could lay my hands upon. I read 
“ good books” — that is, “ goody” books — and did not particularly like them. I 
never met a boy or a girl who did. One did not mind the story part, what story 
there was, but the “ goody” part one skipped. What is more, even at that tender 
age, I was conscious that the “ goody” book presented quite as “ vicious” a pic- 
ture of life as the “penny dreadful:” one couldn’t believe those “goody” books 
were true. — All the Year Round. 

Coffee. — The first European who mentions coffee is said to have been a 
physician named Prosper Alpinus, who went to Egypt in 1580 in the capacity 
of physician to a Venetian consul. This physician used his position to make 
himself acquainted with the botany of Egypt, and in 1592 he published in 
Venice his “ History of the Plants of Egypt.” In this history he gives an account 
of a tree the seeds of which were much used by the Arabs and Egyptians for 
making a drink. The seeds of the tree he called bon , or ban , and by decoction 
they were converted into a drink, to which he ascribes special qualities and 
virtues. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


159 


Quina- Laroche. — This preparation has for its basis a combination of 
all the principles of the best cinchonas with a rich special wine; not, like 
many mixtures, an ordinary compound of drugs, but a 
result of laborious researches, which has won for its in- 
ventor a National Prize of 16,600 francs, and Gold Medals 
at the Expositions of Paris, Vienna, etc. 

Quina- Laroche is par excellence the tonic with which 
to combat stomach affections, loss of appetite, mental 
depression, anaemia, etc. Quina-Laroche is a powerful 
preservative against intermittent and continued fevers re- 
bellious to sulphate of quinine, and of exceptional value 
in cases of tardy convalescence; in combination with iron, 
is especially recommended for poorness of the blood, chlo- 
rosis, difficulties of assimilation, debility, &c. Prevents 
Influenza and La Grippe. 

E. Fougera & Co., Agents, No. 30 North William St., New York. 22 Eue 
Drouot, Paris. 



A pure article of food is always looked for and greatly desired, but just 
how to know that the article you purchase is strictly pure, is perplexing. Spices 
open a larger field for deceptive adulteration than any other products in the 
food line, and in order to be protected against any imposition it is wise to pur- 
chase the pure and unadulterated “ Gauntlet Brand” Spices, put up by E. E. 
Durkee & Co., New York. This old and trustworthy concern has been a 
manufacturer of spices for over forty years, and when you buy ground spices 
bearing their name and trade-mark of the Gauntlet, you will always find them 
absolutely pure and to excel in strength, flavor, and cleanliness. Their guar- 
antee is found on every package. 

Durkee’s Salad Dressing is a delicious table delicacy. It is too well known 
to need comment. 

Pure Spices are indispensable to good cooking and good living, and yet 
there is no article of food that presents greater inducements for adulteration 
than spices, as it can be done in a number of ways that almost defy detection. 
Under the “Gauntlet Brand” label of E. E. Durkee & Co., New York, you can 
always obtain Ground Spice3 that are guaranteed absolutely pure. This old 
and trustworthy house warrant all spices packed under their name to be abso- 
lutely pure, always full weight, and to excel in strength, flavor, and cleanliness. 
After you have given them a trial, you will be satisfied that you have used the 
finest quality of goods that skill, experience, and honesty can produce. 

E. E. Durkee & Co.’s Salad Dressing is an exquisite table delicacy, too 
well known to need comment. 


160 


CURRENT NOTES. 


He Knew His “ Sort.” — Mr. Beerbokm Tree, while playing Hartfeld in 
“Jim the Penman” at the Haymarket, was induced to go to Oxford one after- 
noon and play Iago. The only way of avoiding very awkward consequences 
was to dress in the train ; and this Mr. Tree had prepared himself to do, if, as 
he feared, Othello at Oxford was late; and, as it was, he only just caught his 
train to London by throwing an ulster over his Iago dress and bolting for the 
station. Arrived there, he tipped the guard and got a compartment to himself. 
So far, good ! By the first stoppage the Iago beard was off, and Mr. Tree bore 
the appearance of an ordinary English gentleman, to the obvious mystification 
of the guard, who looked in as he passed along the platform, stared, grunted, 
but ended at that. But, when the time came for taking tickets, another meta- 
morphosis had taken place. The Hartfeld wig, whiskers, and, above all, the 
Hartfeld nose, had been assumed, and, when the hawk-like and forbidding face 
loomed out of the growing shadows in answer to the cry of “ Tickets I” the sus- 
picion of the guard was thoroughly roused. And now, to cap it all, Mr. Tree 
had lost his ticket! This was the last straw, and, with ominous severity, the 
guard said, sharply, “Lost it? I dessay! Come, take off that nose! We 
know your sort !” — and it was only by the application of liberal largess that 
the Haymarket audience was not kept waiting. Mr. Tree is convinced that in 
his secret conscience that guard fully believes to this day that he aided and 
abetted in the escape of some desperate criminal. 


Buried Alive. — The powers of the fakirs, or faqueers, of India and Persia 
of simulating death are marvellous and almost incredible. Several sects in these 
countries regard the art of apparent death as a part of their religious ritual, and 
practise it assiduously. In their ancient books it is described as puranayam, or 
stopping the breath. Many cases in which these Indian fakirs have allowed 
themselves to be buried alive for long periods have been verified by British 
officials in India, and attested by evidence which dispels all doubt of their 
truth. 

This impersonation of death continues for as long as six months, and even 
ten months. The way the fakirs go to work to produce this condition is to have 
the little ligature under the tongue cut, whereby they are enabled to stretch this 
organ out to a great length. Then they turn it back, inserting the end in the 
throat, and closing up at the same time the inner nasal apertures. The ex- 
ternal apertures of the nose and ears are closed with wax and the eyes covered 
to exclude the light. 

Long preliminary practice is, however, needed in holding the breath, and a 
long course of fasting before burial. The fakir then sinks into a condition re- 
sembling death, and the body is wrapped in linen, placed in a box, and buried 
When the box is taken up, at the expiration of the long-continued, death-like 
sleep, and opened, the fakir is found cold and stiff; no pulsation can be felt; 
the heart, the wrist, the temples, are still; the body is not cold as a corpse 
would be, but is colder than that of other living men, except over the seat of 
the brain. All the secretions are fully stopped ; the nails, hair, and beard have 
ceased growth. After being resuscitated the fakir feels great dizziness and for 
a few hours cannot stand up without support, but gradually he recovers strength 
and enjoys amazingly the wonder he has excited . — London Times. 


The February Number 

OF 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE, 
Ready January 20tb, 

Will contain a complete 
novel entitled 

Roy the Royalist, 

By WILLIAM WESTALL, 

Author of “Red Ryvington,” “Ralph Norbreck’s Trust,” 

“ Birch Dene,” etc. 

ALSO, 

The Second of the Journalists’ Series, 

By JULIUS CHAMBERS, 

“ THE MANAGING EDITOR. " 

ALSO, 

The Second paper on Athletics, 

By MR. HERMAN OEHLRICHS, 

“ swimming: 


FOR LIST OF COMPLETE NOVELS CONTAINED IN FORMER NUMBERS, 

SEE NEXT PAGE. 


The 


No. 289. 
No. 288. 
No. 287. 
No. 286. 
No. 285. 
No. 284. 
No. 283. 
No. 282. 
No. 281. 
No. 280. 
No. 279. 
No. 278. 
No. 277. 
No. 276. 
No. 275. 
No. 274. 
No. 273. 
No. 272. 
No. 271. 
No. 270. 
No.- 269. 
No. 268. 
No. 267. 
No. 266. 
No. 265. 
No. 264. 
No. 263. 
No. 262. 
No. 261. 
No. 260. 
No. 259. 
No. 258. 
No. 257. 
No. 256. 
No. 255. 
No. 254. 
No. 233. 
No. 252. 
No. 251. 
No. 250. 
No. 249. 
No. 248. 
No. 247. 
No. 246. 
No. 245. 
No. 244. 
No. 243. 
No. 242. 
No. 241. 
No. 240. 
No. 239. 
No. 238. 
No. 237. 
No. 236. 
No. 235. 
No. 234. 
No. 233. 
No. 232. 
No. 231. 
No. 230. 
No. 229. 
No. 228. 
No, 227. 


Complete Novels which have already appeared in 

Lippincott’s Magazine, 

and which are always obtainable, are: 

“THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE” By Young E. Allison. 

“A FAIR BLOCKADE-BREAKER” By T. C. DeLeon. 

“THE DUKE AND THE COMMONER” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

“LADY PATTY” By the Duchess. 

“ CARLOTTA’S INTENDED” By Ruth McEnery Stuart. 

“A DAUGHTER’S HEART” By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 

“A ROSE OF A HUNDRED LEAVES” By Amelia E. Barr. 

“GOLD OF PLEASURE” By George Parsons Lathrop. 

“VAMPIRES” ;. ..... Bv Julian Gordon. 

“MAIDENS CHOOSING” By Mrs. Ellen Olney Kirk. 

“THE SOUND OF A VOICE” By Frederic S. Cozzens. 

“A WAVE OF LIFE” By Clyde Fitch. 

“THE LIGHT THAT FAILED” By Rudyard Kipling. 

“AN ARMY PORTIA” By Captain Charles King. 

“A LAGGARD IN LOVE” By Jeanie Gwynne Bettany. 

“A MARRIAGE AT SEA” By VV. Clark Russell. 

“THE MARK OF THE BEAST” By Katharine Pearson Woods. 

“WHAT GOLD CANNOT BUY” By Mrs. Alexander. 

“THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY” ...By Oscar Wilde. 

“CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE” By Mary E. Stickney. 

“A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS” By Bret Harte. 

“A CAST FOR FORTUNE” By Christian Reid. 

“ TWO SOLDIERS ” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“THE SIGN OF THE FOUR” By A. Conan Doyle. 

“ MILLICENT AND ROSALIND” By Julian Hawthorne. 

“ALL HE KNEW” By John Habberton. 

“A BELATED REVENGE” By Dr. Robert Montgomery Bird. 

“CREOLE AND PURITAN ” By T. C. De Leon. 

“ SOLARION ” By Edgar Fawcett. 

“AN INVENTION OF THE ENEMY” By W. H. Babcock. 

“TEN MINUTES TO TWELVE” ‘..By M. G. McClelland. 

“A DREAM OF CONQUEST” By General Lloyd Brice. 

“A CHAIN OF ERRORS” By Mrs. E. W. Latimer. 

“THE WITNESS OF THE SUN” By Amelie Rives. 

“BELLA-DEMONIA” By Selina Dolaro. 

“A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS” By Edgar Saltus. 

“HALE-WESTON” By M. Elliot Seaweil. 

“ DUNRAVEN RANCH ” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“ EARTHLINGS ” By Grace King. 

“QUEEN OF SPADES,” and Autobiography By E. P. Roe. 

“HEROD AND MARIAMNE.” A tragedy By Amalie Rives. 

“ MAMMON ” By Maude Howe. 

“THE YELLOW SNAKE” By Wm. Henry Bishop. 

“BEAUTIFUL MRS. THORNDYKE” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

“THE OLD ADAM” By H. H. Bovesen. 

“THE QUICK OR THE DEAD?” By Amelie Rives. 

“HONORED IN THE BREACH.” By Julia Magruder. 

“THE SPELL OF HOME.” After the German of E. Werner. By Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
“ CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK ”...By Brander Matthews and Geo. H. Jessop. 

“FROM THE RANKS” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“THE TERRA-COTTA BUST”... By Virginia W. Johnson. 

“APPLE SEED AND BRIER THORN” By Louise Stockton. 

“THE RED MOUNTAIN MINES” By Lew VanderDOole. 

“A LAND OF LOVE” By Sidney Luska. 

“ AT ANCHOR ” By Julia. Magruder. 

“THE WHISTLING BUOY” By Chas. Barnard. 

“THE DESERTER” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“DOUGLAS DUANE” By Edgar Fawcett. 

“KENYON’S WIFE” By Lucy C. Lillie. 

“A SELF-MADE MAN” By M. G. McClelland. 

“ SINFIRE ” By Julian Hawthorne. 

“MISS DEhARGE” By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

“BRUETON’S BAYOU ” By John Habberton. 


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A REFERENCE WORK NECESSARY TO 
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In its new edition, is incomparably the best 
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Volumes I., II., III., IV., V., VI., and VII. of this superior 
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As The Living Age approaches its jubilee, it is interesting to recall 
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Opinions. 


“ If a cultured stranger from another world were to 
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6 




WIDE AWAKE 


A FEW OF THE GOOD 
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THE LANCE OF KANANA. 


“ Such Stuff as Dreams are Made of,” by 

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“ In a Thunder-storm,” by 

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the clever second of the set, will be published later. 

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7 


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8 



January, 1892. 


mm 



B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S . 
MONTHLY BULLETIN *..... 
OF NEW PUBLICATIONS . . 


List of New Publications, with brief notices of their contents, together with an 

announcement of works now in press to be issued shortly For sale by 

Booksellers generally, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, upon receipt of price. 


NEW PUBLICATIONS. 

Chambers’s Encyclopaedia. Vol. VIIL 

Entirely New Edition , Revised and Reivritten. A Dictionary of Universal 
Knowledge. Edited and Published under the Auspices of W. & R. 
Chambers, Edinburgh, and J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. To 
be completed in ten volumes. Issued at intervals of a few months. Price, 
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The alphabetical scope of this new volume extends from Peasant to Roumelia, a space 
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contributed by the most eminent specialists in every walk of knowledge and upon topics 
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Religion has been treated, for instance, by Cardinal Manning, who has also revised 
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students, Austin Dobson ; on Rabelais, by Walter Besant ; and on Rossetti, by his 
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9 







IO /. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 

The Tannins. 

A Monograph of the History, Preparation, Properties, Method of Estima- 
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Elements of Metallurgy. 

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Hydatid Disease 

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Medicine, is here published in a more extended form for the especial benefit of those 
interested in the subject of hydatid disease and its treatment. The plates given are 
faithful copies of the morbid organs, and were drawn from the specimens before any 
active changes of decomposition had affected them. The volume is an exceedingly 
valuable one on the subject of which it treats. 

Ashes and Incense. 

Poems. By Waitman Barbe. 121110. Unique half cloth binding, gilt top, 
uncut, $1.25. 

The author, who brings us this little book of song and contemplative musing, has a 
true call to poetry, because he is possessed of the double faculty of making music and 
of expressing by its means the genuine thoughts that are in him. His rhythms are clear 
and pure and unpremeditated ; and his reflective ideas, his happy conceits, and plavful 
caresses of Nature and her symbolisms, all mark him out for the office he has so modestly 
assumed. The high quality of the poetry and the attractive appearance of the volume 
make it especially suitable for gift purposes. 

Won and Not One. 

By Emily Lucas Blackall, author of ‘ ‘ Superior to Circumstances, ’ ! etc. 1 2mo. 
Cloth. Illustrated. 75 cents. 

This new volume, inscribed to the young people’s societies in the various religious 
denominations, is a story of two lives united in matrimony, whose differing religious 
beliefs were eventually fatal to the peace and happiness of their home. No denomina- 
tions are mentioned, and there is no direct clue to those which are represented bv the 
parties concerned. The book is all the more suggestive and helpful for this, and in 
working out the principle involved is entirely free from any denominational partiality. 
It is quite profusely illustrated. 


J. B. LI PP IN CO TT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN, u 


Countess Erika’s Apprenticeship. 

Authorized translation, by Mrs. A. L,. Wister, of a forthcoming novel by 
Ossip Schubin, author of “ O Thou, My Austria!” ‘‘Erlach Court,” etc. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“ The pictures of life among the German ‘ four hundred’ are brilliantly and realistically 
drawn, while there are some very beautiful domestic scenes portrayed where mutual love 
and true nobility of soul make a happy contrast to the surrounding frivolity and vice 
that are gilded by the false and materialistic influence of fashionable life. But the most 
absorbing interest centres around the heroine, a girl who at a tender age was left without 
a mother, and was adopted by her grandmother, an old lady who held a commanding 
position in society. The character of Erika is drawn with wonderful beauty, and between 
the lines is a powerful lesson that is easily read. We cannot refrain from speaking of the 
high compliment that the author pays Mrs. Wister in a brief preface in this book, for 
her ‘ faithful and picturesque rendering’ of his story .” — Boston Home Journal . 

A Divided Duty. 

By Ida Eemon, author of ‘‘That Tittle Woman,” etc. In Lippincott’s 
Series of Select Novels. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 

The explanation of the circumstances which so nearly prove fatal to the happiness 
of the heroine, Leslie Trevor, does credit to the author’s imagination. There are plenty 
of side lights and appreciative sketches of character, and a freshness of atmosphere in 
the Parisian surroundings that makes the story a very readable one. 


LIPPINCOTT’S COPYRIGHT FOREIGN NOVELS. 

Published simultaneously here and abroad, by arrangement with 
the authors, under the new copyright law, making this the 
only edition of these stories in the American market. The 
purpose is to use only the best fiction by popular novelists. 

A North-Country Comedy. 

By M. Betham Edwards. 121110. Cloth, $1.25. 

It is distinctly the work of an artist who understands what is needed to make a 
story bright and attractive reading. The plot is full of incident, and the characters, 
manners, and scenery are happily depicted in a realistic style. 

The Romance of a Chalet. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed, author of “ Moloch,” etc. 121110. Cloth, $1.25. 

“The heroine, a charming American girl, travelling about alone in Europe save for 
the company of her big St. Bernard, is a fascinating creation, and we feel the power of 
her witchery from the start. The opening chapters, gay and brilliant with light and 
color, hardly prepare us for the depth of feeling and intensity of emotional sorrow that 
gradually deepen with the real tragedy of the story. We are inclined to linger in the 
pretty chalet up among the mountains, where it seems as if life might be always so 
simple and free, and we dread to accompany our guide through the mysterious shadows 
presaged for the bright and beautiful heroine. The strange enigma of Constance’s life, 
dating from the tragic secret of her parentage, which we guess before she does, is so 
real and potent that we are moved by it as by an actual experience. And yet, even this 
story of doom has at the close a pathetic beauty in the rare sweetness of the pure and 
noble nature which could endure self-renunciation so long as it was not denied a belief 
in truth and goodness .” — Boston Transcript. 


12 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 


The Life of an Actor. 

By Pierce Egan. Poetical Descriptions by T. Greenwood. Embellished 
with twenty-seven characteristic scenes, etched by Theodore Eane and 
colored by hand. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00. 

This amusing work, written by the author of the celebrated “Life in London,” was 
first published in 1825. As it has been out of print a number of years, — for it is one of 
the few of Pierce Egan’s books reprinted, — we have been tempted to reissue it in a simi- 
lar form to the original edition, with all the numerous illustrations faithfully fac-similed. 

King Arthur and the Knights of the Round 

Table. A modernized version of the Morte Darthur. By Charles Morris, 
author of “Half-Hours with the Best American Authors,” etc. Three 
volumes. 161110. Half cloth, gilt top, $2.25 ; half calf or half morocco, 
$6.00. 

“Mr. Morris has done an excellent work, especially for young readers, in what may 
be described as a translation of Mallory into modern English prose. To those who can 
read the ‘ Morte Darthur’ in its original form, or rather in the form into which Mallory 
put it, this modernization is not necessary, and may be not entirely welcome ; but the 
truth is that Mallory is very hard reading, and requires so much interpretation that it is 
safest and best to give up the old form and come down to plain every-day language. 
Mr. Morris has taken no unwarranted liberties with his original. He has simply put it 
in a modern dress ; and the publishers have issued the work in such convenient form, 
in three thin, neatly printed volumes, that no reader, young or old, can have any excuse 
for remaining in ignorance of the great English epic w r hich is at the foundation of so 
much of our noblest literature .” — Philadelphia Times. 


Our Bessie. Averil. 

By Rosa Nouchette Carey, author of “ Esther,” “ Aunt Diana,” etc. i2mo. 
Cloth, $1.25 per volume. Sets of Miss Carey’s books for girls — “ Esther,” 
“Aunt Diana,” “Merle’s Crusade,” “Our Bessie,” and “Averil” (5 
vols.) — in box, $6.25. 

“ ‘Averil’ is a very pleasantly written story of English home life, which wfill be espe- 
cially acceptable to girls who like simple, natural characters and incidents. Readers 
who require strong stimulants or spicy morsels might pronounce it tame, but the 
average girl wffio has not lost the freshness of girlhood will enjoy it from beginning 
to end. Averil Wilmot is a beautiful character, and her gentle personality makes itself 
felt all through the book. The charming cousin from France, the warm-hearted Lottie, 
and the stepmother with her children, are all skilfully and individually drawn ; and 
while there are no thrilling or dramatic incidents, there is sufficient action in the story 
to keep the reader’s interest. We cordially commend the book to those parents or 
guardians who are looking for a sweet, bright, wdiolespme story for young girls.” — 
Boston Transcript. 

“ ‘Our Bessie’ is a charming book in its quiet exposition of true womanly graces, 
and, once begun, is sure to hold the interest of any reader who is attracted by character 
studies. It furnishes a refreshing change from the ‘ popular’ novel of the times, and w T e 
strongly commend it to the consideration of young ladies .” — Burlington Hawkey e . 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 13 


Yvernelle: A Legend of Feudal France. 

By Frank Norris. Illustrated by eleven full-page photogravures, three of 
which are in colors, from drawings by Church, Dewey, Dielman, Garrett, 
Hinton, Dow, and Shirlaw ; also, numerous engravings in the text after 
modellings by Boyle and Maene, and designs by Bissegger. Square 8vo. 
Handsomely bound in cloth, gilt top, $3.50 ; full morocco, $5.00. 

“The author knows how to tell a story, and also how to write in the manner of Sir 
Walter. His lines have plenty of swing and music, and the narrative advances steadily 
without any break in the movement of the verse. The mediaeval character of the legend 
is well sustained, and there is plot and incident enough to make the story interesting. 
The illustrations, particularly the two heads, — one by Low, the other by Dielman, — 
which are reproduced in color, contribute most to the beauty of the book, and make it 
among the most attractive of the holiday volumes.” — N. V. Critic. 


New Illustrated Editions of the Works of William H. Prescott. 

History of the Reign of Ferdinand and 

Isabella the Catholic. Containing all the steel plates on India paper 
and maps that have appeared in former editions. With thirty phototype 
illustrations. Large type, printed on fine paper, and neatly bound. Two 
volumes. 8vo. Half morocco, gilt top, $10.00 net. 

One of the most valuable contributions to our historical literature, and by many 
considered the best of Prescott’s works, is the““ History of Ferdinand and Isabella.” It 
unites the fascination of romantic fiction with the grave interest of authentic events, 
and has certainly proved “ an enduring history never to be superseded.” To contribute 
to the interest of the w r ork and to bring the actual delineation of the events treated of in 
the text before the eyes of the reader, these new volumes have been beautifully illustrated. 
The subjects are copied from photographs of cities, public edifices, and reproductions 
of paintings representing remarkable events during an epoch of unrivalled interest in 
the history of mediaeval Europe. 

History of the Conquest of Mexico. 

With a life of the conqueror, Fernando Cortez, and a view of the ancient 
Mexican civilization. Containing all the steel plates on India paper and 
maps that have appeared in former editions. With thirty phototype 
illustrations. Large type, on fine paper, and neatly bound. Two volumes. 
8 vo. Half morocco, gilt top, $10.00 net. 

It would be no difficult matter to fill our pages with glowing testimonials from emi- 
nent literary journals and critics of this great historical work, repeated editions of 
which have been issued every year since 1843, when the volumes first appeared. The 
fact is lost sight of that the descendants of the Aztecs of the time of the conquest are a 
people now living, and the history is frequently read and reread only as a brilliant nar- 
rative of the events of a dead epoch. 

In selecting the illustrations for the present edition, it has been sought to counteract 
this misconception of its scope by emphasizing the fact that much of what the author 
describes as existing nearly four centuries ago actually exists to-day. Many of the 
photographs taken wdthin the past year differ very slightly from those which might 
have been taken (had photography then existed) in the first quarter of the sixteenth 
century, and thus genuinely illustrate Prescott’s fascinating history. 


i 4 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 


The Little Ladies, 

By Helen Milman, is a delightful story for children, and a most attractive 
gift-book. Small 4to. Cloth, $1.50. 

“Nothing sweeter or purer has been written in many years, and we do not hesitate 
to accord Miss Milman the first place. The story should be preserved and handed down 
to posterity to show to coming generations how beautiful was the juvenile literature of 
our day. The book is tastefully illustrated by Emily F. Harding, and those who wish 
to bring the smiles to the faces of their little daughters cannot do so more surely than 
by presenting them with ‘The Little Ladies.’ ’’ — Baltimore American. 

The Swiss Republic. 

By Boyd Winchester, late United States Minister at Bern. Crown 8vo. 
Cloth, $2.00. 

“An interesting feature of the work is Mr. Winchester’s adoption of the comparative 
method, taking, as he does, many familiar facts in Swiss history and experiences had by 
the United States in order to show their effect in each case upon certain political ideas. 
He shows how all through the Swiss federal polity and that of the United States ‘ there 
runs not only parallels of illustration, but lines converging to and pointing out essential 
truths in popular government.’ Mr. Winchester also devotes several chapters to peasant 
and home life, to the natural attractions of the country, to the political relations of the 
republic with other countries, to its capital city, and to its legends, including, of course, 
the famous one of William Tell. The author is a clear-headed observer, a thorough 
student, and the results of his observations and studies he has given in a style which 
leaves little to be desired for picturesque description and clearness, and at the same time 
conciseness of statement. ’ '—Boston Traveller. 

Atlantis Arisen; or, Talks of a Tourist 

About Oregon and Washington. By Mrs. Frances Fuller Victor. Illus- 
trated by numerous engravings. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.50. 

“ Mrs. Frances Fuller Victor writes with an enthusiasm tempered by accuracy. Hers 
are no hasty impressions jotted down during a* flying visit, but the views of one long- 
familiar with nature and people in that part of the earth. She w r rites about the discovery 
of the region, gives a bird’s-eye view of the early history, tells of the Columbia River 
from mouth to source, discusses the climate, describes Astoria and Wallamet, and enters 
into interesting detail concerning mines, minerals, game, sport, the mountains, and the 
islands. I11 short, she furnishes a complete hand-book of the two States. The numerous 
illustrations are clear and attractive, and add greatly to the value of the work.’’ — Boston 
Literary World. 


Life of Benjamin Harris Brewster. 

With discourses and addresses. By Eugene Coleman Savidge, M.D., author 
of “ Wallingford,” etc. With portrait. 121110. Cloth, $1.50. 

“At once an object-lesson and an inspiration. . . . He w T as a great lawyer, a brilliant 
man of letters. . . . He has a fit biographer in Dr. Savidge. The work is a valuable 
addition to American biography, and a valuable contribution to American political his- 
tory. I11 no other volume is to be found so clear and impartial an account of the Star 
Route trials.” — Boston Traveller. 


J. B. LIPPI NCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 

BOOKS IN PRESS. 


15 


The Tempest. 

Volume IX. of the Variorum Edition of Shakespeare. Edited by Horace 
Howard Furness, Ph.D., LL.D., L.H.D. 

Only Human; or, Justice. 

By John Strange Winter, author of “The Other Man’s Wife,” “Bootle’s 
Baby,” etc. Published by arrangement with the author, and copyrighted 
in the United States. 

His Great Self. 

A New Novel. B}^ Marion Harland. 

Typewriting and Business Correspondence. 

By O. R. Palmer. 

Diseases of the Nervous System. 

By J. K. Bauduy, M.D. 

The Complete Medical Pocket-Formulary 

and Physician’s Vade-Mecum. Collated for the use of practitioners by 
J. C. Wilson, A.M., M.D. 

Illustrations of the Nerve Tracts 

in the Mid and Hind Brain, and the Cranial Nerves arising 
Therefrom. By Alexander Bruce, M.D., Lecturer on Practical Pathology 
in the School of Medicine, Edinburgh, etc. Handsomely illustrated with 
twenty-seven plates from original drawings made from the author’s dis- 
sections. 

Cigarette Papers. 

By Joseph Hatton, author of “ By Order of the Czar.” 

The Diseases of the Mouth in Children. 

(Non-Surgical.) By P'. Forchheimer, M.D. 

Indications of the Second Book of Moses, 

called Exodus. By Edward B. Latch, author of a “ Review of the Holy 
Bible,” “Indications of the Book of Genesis,” etc. 

The Idealist. 

By Henry T. King, author of ‘ ‘ The Egotist, ” “ Essays, ’ ’ etc. 


1 6 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 

J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, will publish monthly, in 
connection with Bradbury, Agnew & Co., of London, a new and handy 
edition, to be known as 

THE “JORROCKS” EDITION, 

OF THE 

Handley Gross Sporting Hovels. 

In lart/e Crown Sro volumes, with Illustrations. 


O F the books which have attained to the position of being perennial favorites with the audi- 
ence to whom they appeal — living as if no rivalry could dislodge them — a. foremost place 
has long been held by the Handley Cross series of volumes, which are now just as 
much the favorite reading ol those who are interested in the exploits of the hunting-field, as 
they have been since their first publication. 

The fictitious heroes, whose doings and sayings inspire these favorite volumes, provide a 
nomenclature which is as much embedded in the phraseology of sport as those of Thackeray or 
Dickens are in our national literature. In what hunting circles may it not be said that the 
names of Jorrocks and Soapey Sponge and P'acey Romford are “ familiar in their mouths as 
household words” ? 

The Handley Cross Sporting Novels have hitherto, by reason of their price, been 
somewhat beyond the attainment of that extensive and constantly enlarging section who have 
learned to take delight in the out-of-door amusements which brighten rural life, but whose 
acquaintance with books comes through the circulating library and not from possession. 

By the publication now projected, every one whose delight is in a “ finest run across coun- 
try that ever was seen,” and whose ambition is “to be in at the finish,” may have as his abiding 
companions on his own book-case, within reach of his easy-chair, the histories of JORROCKS 
and Sponge and Romfokd, and others of the famous creation, in a handsome and handy form; 
having the pages brightened by a selection from the original illustrations to give an added vivid- 
ness to the exhilarating raciness of the author’s humor. 

The selection from the original illustrations to be given in each volume will, for the most 
part, be printed in the text, and there will be, in addition to these, a frontispiece and several 
separate page illustrations printed on toned paper. 

NOW READY , 

“MR. SPONGE’S sporting TOUR,” 

in one volume. Crown 8vo. Price $2.25. 


LIST OF THE NOVELS. 


HANDLEY CROSS; or, Mr. Jorrocks’s 
Hunt. Many sketches on wood. 

ASK MAMMA ; or, The Richest Com- 
moner in England. Many sketches on 
wood. 

MR. FACEY ROMFORD’S HOUNDS. 


SPONGE’S SPORTING TOUR. Many 
sketches on wood. 

PLAIN OR RINGLETS? Manysketches 
on wood. 

HAWBUCK GRANGE; or, The Sport- 
ing Adventures of Thomas Scott, Esq. 


This inimitable series of volumes is absolutely unique, there being nothing approaching to 
them in all the wide range of modern or ancient literature. Written by Mr. Surtees, a well- 
known country gentleman, who was passionately devoted to the healthy sport of fox-hunting, 
and gifted with a keen spirit of manly humor of a Rabelaisian tinge, they abound with incidents 
redolent of mirth and jollity. The artist, Mr. Leech, was himself also an enthusiast in the 
sport, and has reflected in his illustrations, with instinctive appreciation, the rollicking abandon 
of the author’s stories. 


*** For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. 

J. B. MPPIflGOTT GOJflPflflY, 715 and 717 Jttarket Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 




Have you seen the new KODAKS ? 


The new No. 5 Folding KODAK is the King among 
cameras. 

THE EASTMAN COMPANY 

Send a postal for particulars. ROCHESTER., 5^*. Y. 




CARBUTT’S ORTHO-PLATES and FILMS 

are now the favorites with all bright Professionals and 
Amateurs. Ask yourdealer for them and take no other. 
Write for reduced price list. 

JOHN CARBUTT, Wayne Junction, Philadelphia. 
Mention Lippincott’s Magazine. 


The Improved 

‘‘ Water bury” 

An all-round hand camera. A 
sort of general utility machine. 
It’s great. 

Send for descriptive catalogue. 

Scovill < 5 r* Adams Co., 

423 Broome St., N. Y. 


17 





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Grant's Memoirs, $7.00 Edition, for nothing. 


No other book, except the Bible, has had such a sale in the United States as 
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million people in more moderate circumstances who want these books and will jump at 
such an offer as this . The COSMOPOLITAN has contracted for 

600,000 Volumes 

FOR THE USE OF THE SUBSCRIBERS OF THE COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE. 

THE LARGEST HE PDBCHASE OF BOOKS EVER HADE. 


The Price of LiPPililCOTT’S MAGAZINE, One Year, is - - $3.00 

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Total - $13.00 


$0U 


can have them all for Five Dollars, and postage or expressage on Me- 
i n 0 ther words, we will furnish you Grant’s Memoirs in the 


moirs. 


original subscription $7.00 edition for nothing, and pay you a dollar for 
carrying them away. That is the long and short of our proposition. 


But that is not all of it. If you already have General Grant’s book, then 
you should have the companion volumes, by Sherman, Sheri- 
dan, or McClellan, or General R. E. Lee’s Memoirs, as you may prefer, — they 
are all in the same style of binding. Send $5.00 by express or money order, 
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18 





x^Ld . j£di£jicltZS55SS55SaL. 

B O O PC S 

^ HEFPPFPFF^ 7 ^P 7 ^^P 73 ^^ .j ^ 



YOU CARRY THEM AWAY!! 



THE GREAT BOOKS OF THE WAR. 

? T ME MOIRS (cloth, green and gold), 2 yols., sold by subscription for $7.00 
£ E N E SFSSfiV?’® MEM0I RS (cloth, green and gold), 2 vols., sold by subscription for 6.00 

SSS.J* s MEM 0IRS (cloth, green and gold), 1vol., sold by subscription for 3.76 

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grh* Unit min I P ro P or t‘ ons °f this transaction in books enables The Cosmopolitan to 
' vtUl make an offer which has undoubtedly never before been equalled 

in the history of any periodical. 

hC 4 Unnntilie * s sen * P os * a £ e prepaid, but express charges on the Memoirs are pay- 
V'HJv able ^ the receiver. If by mail, postage must accompany original 

order. Grant, 96 oz. ; Sherman, 92 oz. ; Sheridan, 84 oz. ; McClellan, 48 oz. ; Lee, 56 oz. ; 
Postage one-half cent per oz. 

(iTfie dTncmtnnnlttnn * sa * m ’ n £ to secure half a million subscribers, and these 
VJ/L -UUU UlliUU extraordinary inducements have been arranged for the purpose of 
introducing the Magazine at once upon the largest scale to the reading public of the United States. 

STIlP £lPUPtt vo ^ urnes °ff ere d constitute the great books of our Civil War. They must 
Kl'lJC /Vv-Uvll ^ standard works for all time to come, and the bookcases of no one who 
claims to be well informed will be complete without them. Whether you are a Lawyer, Busi- 
ness-Man, Clergyman, National Guardsman, Teacher, Journalist, or Banker, you will need these 
books for yourself, for your children, or for your children’s children. 

cons ^ u ^ e tbe great personal history of tbe war. 

A-vUVtvit Any one se f 0 f Memoirs and a year’s subscription to Lippincott’s 
and The Cosmopolitan Magazines are offered at a price that is but $2.00 more than the price of 
The Cosmopolitan alone, which gives annually 1536 pages by the ablest authors, with over 
1200 illustrations by clever artists, — a magazine which has jumped, in two years, into the 
place of the third most popular magazine in the world, and bids fair to lead all its competitors 
before another two years shall have gone by. 

h rttT °ff er will never be made again. No publisher could afford to make it unless 
Ull be wished to present a magazine which he felt sure had only to be introduced 
to retain its permanent place on the family book-table, — a magazine just as interesting to the 
young boy or girl as to the oldest gray head. 

/jr%lT dtfYItV’ftP °^ er * s * nten ded to bring new subscribers. There is no money in it 
vlH VlUUlyt f or The Cosmopolitan. But we have found by experience that out of all 
the new readers who take The Cosmopolitan on trial for a year, more than 87 per cent, become 
permanent friends and readers of the magazine. It is difficult to refuse to the old friend what 
you offer as an inducement for new ones. Consequently, any old subscriber of The Cosmopol- 
itan or any old subscriber of Lippincott’s sending #5.00 and postage on Memoirs to us will have 
his or her subscription renewed on our books for one year, and will receive the volumes of 
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favor that the volumes, when they arrive, be called to the attention of some neighbor who does 
not know The Cosmopolitan. 

Address THE COSMOPOLITAN PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

5th Avenue, Broadway and 25th Street, New York City. 

19 




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It will pay you to find out by writing to C. L.WEBSTER & CO., 67 Fifth Ave., New York. M 


WHAT IS IN IT? 

Bright editorials, gossip of 
literary people, special cor- 
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ing literary centres, special ar- 
ticles by T. W. Higginson, Julian 
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others of equal note on topics of general 
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Sample copies on application. > 


BRAINS. 

$ 500.00 

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WHAT IS BRAINS? 
t is a semi-monthly journal for writers, 
authors, journalists, and literary folk 
^ in general. It is a handsomely- 
\ printed 16-page paper, bright and 
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\ a cash prize of $500 for the bes t 

UNITED PDBLISH1HG CO., \ Eh » rt bs f r0 

' \ Dec. 1, 1891. We also buy 

John Hancock Building, \ an( 3 sell manuscripts. 
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WHEN WAS MY BABY BORN? 

If you will send us the name and address of any baby 
born since 1885, and a postage stamp, we will mail that 
child a copy of “ Our Little Ones and The Nursery," the 
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Russell Publishing Co., 196 Summer St., Boston, Mass. 



Worcester’s 

Dictionary 

Is the standard in Spelling, Pronunciation, and Definition. 
It is the recognized authority in use among American 
schools and colleges, American orators, writers, poets, 
and statesmen, people of education, and the leading 
American newspapers and magazines. The work is for 
sale by all booksellers. Write to the publishers for 
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J. B. Lippincott Company, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 


20 



BO OK S 

. £^HEEEe£Z2HEEEHE2HE32 



A ttractive 
R ooks for 
Children, 



A delightful story for young people and a most attractive 
gift book. Its sentiment is pure and sweet, never forced 
or mawkish. Beginning sadly, it ends in joy; always, as 
in life where children are, the tears are swiftly smiled 
away. These twin tots, “ Nona” and “ Nesta,” find their 
way at once to the reader’s heart and possess it entirely. 
It is not possible to resist their antics, to frown down the 
humor of their game of “ Adam and Eve,” or to read with 
set lips their droll letters to the new earl. Then in the 
most unaffected manner a charming portrait has been 
drawn of “ Sweetheart,” and her tender little romance is 
really enchanting. 

Rosa Nouchette Carey writes such clean and charming 
stories as mothers may, with confidence and entire peace 
of mind, place in the hands of their daughters. “ The 
curiosity of those who ask what it is that makes her books 
so popular can easily be gratified,” says the New York 
Morning "Journal. “ Her stories, while interesting in 
themselves, have a moral charm that emanates from the 
principal characters. She has now written several books 
for girls, and in all of them the same purity of intention is 
manifest. It teaches without preaching, it lifts the reader 
into a fine atmosphere without lecturing.” 


“ We don’t know how old Dr. Mitchell is in years, but 
he has got a young heart and a genial, sunny nature, and 
we know children love him because — he loves the chil- 
dren. The delightful stories here gathered in a beautiful 
casket were written at different times for special purposes, 
and the approval of the nursery critics upon them is sure 
to be enthusiastically favorable.” — Boston Home Journal. 


PRINCE LITTLE BOY, 

And other Tales out of Fairyland. 

By S. Weir Mitchell. 

Illustrated, small 4 to, cloth, 
$i-5°- 


AVERIL, OUR BESSIE, 
ESTHER, MERLE’S 
CRUSADE, AUNT DIANA. 


By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 


l2mo, cloth, $1.25 per vol. 5 vols. 
in box, $6.25. 


THE LITTLE LADIES. 


By Helen Milman. 


Illustrated, small 4to, cloth, 
51.50. 


“ Of all the holiday books for children issued within the 
past few years this is one of the prettiest and best, as well 
as one of the cheapest. The little sketches and verses are 
entertaining, varied, and unobjectionable, and some of the 
pictures are works of art in a modest sense, the whole 
being notable for an absence of signs of that manufacture 
to order which is the bane of so many recent juveniles.” — 
Sunday-School Times , Philadelphia. 


CHRISTMAS STORIES 
AND POEMS, 

For the Little Ones. 


Illustrated, 8 vo, cloth, $1.00. 


For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by the Publishers, post-paid, on receipt of the price. 

J. D. LIPPISCOTT comity, IIS aid 711 Met Street, PMlaJep, 


F3 O QJKS 


Lippincotf s Series of 
Select Novels . \Z 


Hound in Paper, 50c. 
Hound in Cloth, 75c. 


A Divided Duty. By Ida Leman. 

Drawn Blank. By Mrs. Robert Jocelyn. 

My Land of Beulah. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 

I. nterference. By b. m. croker. 
fust Impediment. By Richard Pryce. 

Mary St. John. ‘By Rosa N. Carey, 

Quita. By the author of “ The County,” “Lady Baby,” etc. 
A Little Irish Girl. By the “ Duchess." 

Two English Girls. By Mabel Hart. 

A Draught of Lethe. By Roy Tellet. 

The Plunger. By Hawley Smart. 

The Other Mans Wife. By John Strange Winter. 
A Homburg Beauty. By Mrs. Edward Kennard. 
Jacks Secret. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 

Heriot’ s Choice. By Rosa N. Carey. 

Two Masters. By B. M. Croker. 
Disenchantment. By F. Mabel Robinson. 

Pearl Powder. By Annie Edwardes. 

The Jewel in the Lotos. By Mary Agnes Tincker. 
The Rajah s Heir. 

Syrlin . By “ Ouida. ” Cloth, $1.00. 

A Study in Scarlet. By A. Conan Doyle. 

A Last Love . By Georges Ohnet. 


For sale by all Booksellers. Sent , post-paid, by the Pub- 

lishers , on receipt of price. J. B. Lippincott Company , 7/5 

and 7/7 Market Street , Philadelphia. 

22 



S5H55H5S 5555EHHgH5H S ggH55E 5HaSHHEE 5EE5 S5H SSHS 

P I Jsj H N C I 7-? L* 




308 & 310 "WALNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 


Cash Capital $500,000 00 

Reserve lor Re-Insurance and all other claims 1,994,685 25 

Surplus over all Liabilities 455,708 82 


TIE UE1IU1 TIDE 


INSURANCE COM 


Total Assets, January 1, 1891, $2,950,394 01. 

THOS H. MONTGOMERY, President. RICHARD MARIS, Secretary. 

CHAS. PEROT, Vice-President. J. B. YOUNG, Actuary. 

AGENCIES IN ALL THE PBINCIPAL TOWNS AND CITIES IN THE UNITED STATES. 


TRUST AND SAFE DEPOSIT COMPANY 


THE PENNSYLVANIA COMPANY 

FOR INSURANCES ON LIVES AND 
GRANTING ANNUITIES, 

No. 517 CHESTNUT STREET, 

INCORPORATED MARCH 10 , 1812 . 
CHARTER PERPETUAL. 

CAPITAL $2,000,000 

SURPLUS 2,000,000 

Chartered to act as EXECUTOR, ADMINISTRA- 
TOR, TRUSTEE. GUARDIAN, ASSIGNEE, COM- 
MITTEE, RECEIVER, AGENT, etc.; and for the 
faithful performance of all such duties all its Capital 
and Surplus are liable. 

ALL TRUST INVESTMENTS ARE KEPT 
SEPARATE AND APART PROM THE ASSETS 
OF THE COMPANY. 


INCOME COLLECTED AND REMITTED. 


INTEREST ALLOWED ON MONEY DEPOSITS. 


SAFES IN ITS BURGLAR-PROOF VAULTS 
FOR RENT. 

The protection of its Vaults for the preservation 
of WILLS offered gratuitously. 


Gold and Silver-Plate, Deeds, Mortgages, etc., re- 
ceived for safe-keeping under guarantee. 


LINDLEY SMYTH, PRESIDENT. 
HENRY N. PAUL, VICE-PRESIDENT. 
JARVIS MASON, TRUST OFFICER. 

L. C. CLEEMANN, ASST TRUST OFFI0ER. 

WM. P. HENRY, SEC’Y AND TREAS. 

JOHN J. R. CRAVEN, ASST SEC’Y. 

WM. L. BROWN, ASS’T Treas. 


DIEBCTOES. 


Lindley Smyth, 

Henry N. Paul, 
Alexander Biddle, 
Anthony J. Antelo, 
Charles W. Wharton, 
Edward H. Coates, 

Beauveau 


Peter C. Hollis, 
John R. Fell, 
William W. Justice, 
Craige Lippincott, 
George W. Childs, 
Edward S. Buckley, 
Borie. 


The Largest College of 
Shorthand and Type- 
whiting in the world. 
Patronage and reputation 
national. No Vacation. 
Both sexes. Q~j“ Circulars free. Address . 

Willis s College of Shorthand, Springfield, Ohio. 


SHORT 




ioz 


Security 

absolute. 


GUARANTEED ON LOANS! 

Profits on realty investments guaranteed. Ger- 
r_ man-American Investment and Guaranty Co. 
" Capital, $ 100 , 000 . Seattle, Washington. 


COMBINATION 

STAN DS 

One style made especially for the 
• CENTURY DICTIONARY 
! as shown in cut. 

: Revolving Book Cases. Book Rests, 
' Dictionary Holders, Utility Tables. 
Send for R. M. LAMB1E, 

R9 TL 19th St.. N. Y 


o 

o 



23 






MISCELLANEOUS 

' .j^^^^pg gggggmgggigggggggggagagg HSgE 



^SUPERIOR NUTHTTIDN -THE LIFE*’ 



This Original and World Renowned Dietetic 
Preparation is a Substance of UNRIVALLED PURITY 
and Medicinal Worth, A Solid Extract derived by 
a New Process from very Superior Growthsof 
Wheat— nothing More. It Has Justly Acquired 

THE REPUTATION OF BEING THE SALVATOR FOR 



5 AND THE AGED. 

AN INCOMPARABLE ALIMENT FOR THE GROWTH 
AND PROTECTION OF INFANTS AND 


CHILDREN 

_ A Superior Nutritive in Continued 
Fevers and a reliable Remedial agent 

IN ALL DISE ASES OF THE STOMACH AND INTESTINES. 

5DLD BY DRUGGISTS 

SHIPPING DEPOT — JO HR CARLE & SQNS.’NEWYOFIKi 


Cut Glass. 

Two pieces without which no 
table or sideboard is complete, 
and which are offered at a price 
within the reach of all. 

A Water-Bottle and 
twelve Tumblers 
for $12.75. 

Or Separately : 

Water-Bottles, $3.75 each. 
Tumblers, $9.00 dozen. 

The crystal is pure and heavy, the 
cutting deep, and the pattern the always 
popular diamond and fan. 

R. J. ALLEN, SON & CO., 

1124-1126 Market Street, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 


€ 


^7 


# 






4 = 





made in black, white, 
drab and ecru, and in 24 styles to fit every form 
and taste. They cost no more than those boned 
with whalebone or horn, and are much superior. 

Leading dressmakers also use Dr. Warner’s 
Coraline Dress Stays in place of whalebone, as 
they are more reliable and do not, like whale- 
bon ;, become bent and distorted with use. 

Sold by leading merchants throughout the world . 
WARNER BROTHERS, 

New York, Chicago , London , Paris and Berlin* 

24 



Buy a Piano 

of whom you like, but first write and see what we have to say ; 
part of it is, that no matter what the distance, we send pianos on 
approval to be returned if unsatisfactory, we paying the railway 
freight both ways, — easy payments, — old pianos taken in ex- 
change ; but this is only a small part of it. What we have to 
say is worth while or we would not spend money advertising for 
an opportunity to say it, and to give away expensive catalogues 
post-paid as we do. Isn't it worth a postal card to you to see 
what we can tell about buying pianos in general and ours in 
particular? Write us. 

IVERS & POND PIANO COMPANY, 

MASONIC TEMPLE, Cor. TREMONT and BOYLSTON STS., BOSTON, MASS. 

OUR PIANOS CAN BE SEEN AT 

J. G. Ramsdell’s, iiii Chestnut St., Philadelphia. W. J. Dyer & Bro.’s, St. Paul and Minneapolis. 

F. H. Chandler’s, 300 Fulton St., Brooklyn. Philip Werlein’s, 135 Canal St., New Orleans. 

Phillips & Crew’s, Atlanta, Ga. Sanders & Stayman’s, Baltimore and Washington. 

Thos. Goggan & Bro.’s, Galveston, Texas. Kohler & Chase's, San Francisco, Cal. 

And in 150 other Dealers’ Warerooms. Write for information. 

25 



MISCEL-L-HNEOUS 



Which— Man or Shirt? 

Has the man grown, or has the flannel 
shrunk? Usually, the shirt is to blame. No, 
not that, either — but the way it’s 
washed. 

Flannels ought to be washed with 
Pearline. If you’re buying new ones, 
start right. Have them washed only 
with Pearline (direction on every 
package) and they won’t shrink. 
As for the old ones, Pearline can’t 
make them any larger, but begin with it at once and it will keep them 
from growing smaller. It will keep them from the wear and tear of 
the washboard, too. 



Danger 


As one wash is sufficient to ruin flannels, great care should be 
exercised as to the use of the many imitations which are being offered 
by unscrupulous grocers or peddlers. Pearline is never peddled. 

314 JAMES PYLE. New York. 



Sib Henbt Thompson, the 
most noted physician of Eng- 
land, says that more than half 
Of all diseases come from errors 
in diet 

Send for Free Sample of 
Garfield Tea to 319 West 46th 
Street, New York City. 

Ove r. 
comes 
results 

J of bad eating; cures Sick Headache; re. 
stores the Complexion: cures Constipation. 

BOILING WATER OR MILK. 

EPPS’S 

GRATEFUL-COMFORTING. 

COCOA 

LABELLED 1-2 LB. TINS OKLY. 


REGISTERED 


MISS VERA MEAD 

A lady of New York City, 

HAS LOST 63 POUNDS 

in weight and 13 inches in waist 
measure, and is in most perfect 
health. How she did it is told in 
Mr. Hudnut’s 40-page pamphlet, for- 
warded free on request. 

-- R. HUDNUT, Chemist, 

V aAnc tim 935 Broadway (only), New York. 

f 

FRANK MILLER’S! 

STANDARD OF THE WORLD 





For Harness, Buggy Tops, Saddles, Fly Nets, Travel- 
ling Bags, Military Equipments, Etc. ( 

Gives a beautiful finish, which will not peel or crack 
off, smut or crock by handling. 

Sold by All Harness Makers. 


TIT 


An elegant dressing exquisitely perfumed, removes allj 
Impurities from the scalp, prevents baldness andgray hair, 

[ and causes the hair to grow Thick, Soft and Beautiful. In- 
fallible for curin g eruptions, diseases of the skin, glands and 
muscles, and quickly healing cuts, bums, bruises, sprains, 
Drujkfidsts or by Mail, 50 cts. 
BARCLAY <fc Co., 44 Stone St., New York. 


26 





27 


I 


WITH THE WITS. 



B jones. — “ Did you hear about Smith ?” 

Bjinks— “Noj what’s up?” 

Bjones. — “ Why, he has lit out with the bank’s deposits.” 

Bjinks. — “ Whew ! What was the sum ?” 

Bjones.— “ He wasn’t satisfied with some : he took the whole business !” 


When nature is the creditor 
She’s apt to be usurious ; 

Thus palsied age looks back to youth, 

To realize the sombre truth 

That, eye for eye, and tooth for tooth, \ 

We pay for pranks injurious. 


An aged colored man should never attempt to gain admission into a secret 
society : he’s apt to be black-bald, to begin with. 

28 



The 



Take off shade, take off 
chimney, apply the match, 
put on chimney, burn your 
fingers, put on shade, scorch 
it. No, no ; nothing of the 
kind. Light your Daylight 
without removing shade or 
chimney and do it 
as quick as a wink. 

Send for our ABC book on 
Lamps. 

Craighead & Kintz Co., 33 
Barclay St., N. Y 


...--■''"See that 

hump ? 

It’s the feature of 
the De Long Hook 
and Eye. When it’s hooked 
it stays hooked. Easily un- 
fastens when you want it — 
not before. 1 5 cents a card 
of two dozen. 

Partridge & Richardson , 
Philadelphia . 




ORPHEA MUSICAL BOX 

Is the Latest Invention in Swiss Musical Boses. 

They are the sweetest, most complete, durable, and perfect 
Musical Boxes made, and any number of tunes can be ob- 
tained for them. Also a complete line of all other styles and 
sizes from 30 cts. to $1800. Tlie Largest Stock in America. 
The most appropriate wedding, anniversary, and holiday 
present. Mo Musical Box can be Guaranteed to wear 
well without Gautschi’s Safety Tune Change and Check, Bat. 
in Switzerland and in the U. S. Send stamp for Prices. 

Old Music Boxes carefully Repaired and Improved. 

GAUTSCHI & SONS, '%l c « h Wa st - 


BAILEY’S RUBBER 



HEEL CUSHION 


Buy the Best direct from the Manufacturer, 
and at first Cost. 


ESPEY’S FRAGRANT CREAM. 



Cures Chapped Hands, Face, Lips, or any irrita- 
tion of the skin. Is a scientific food and tonic 
for the skin and complexion. Prevents ten- 
dency to wrinkles or aging of the skin. Keeps 
the faoe and hands soft, smooth, and plump. 
CELIA CONKLIN’S CURLING CREAM 
warranted to hold the Hair in Curl, Bangs, and 
Frizzes. Is absolutely harmless. Both prepara- 
tions for sale by dealers everywhere. Enclose 
two-cent stamp for free Card-Case to P. B. Keys, 
105 State Street, Chicago, 111. 


Pll I nuif sham 2 ^o? 3* dollars" for a pillow 

I ILLUM sham holder. "Mine are in sets of 
three, nicely nickel-plated, with in PCM TP 
screws complete and directions III Ijr II I A 
for putting up. They will last a 
lifetime. Mailed, post-paid, to any address for 10 
cents a set ; one dozen sets, 75 cents. Agents wknted. 

T. M. GANDY, Cedarville, Conn. 


gives elasticity and ease to every step taken by 
the wearer. It breaks the shock or jarring of the 
body when walking, and is particularly adapted to 
all who are obliged to be on their feet. To those 
suffering from Spinal, Kidney, Rheumatic, and 
Nervous Affections, it will be found a great 
relief. The rubber, with its annular projections, is 
as soft as velvet, thoroughly vulcanized, always 
elastic, leather covered next to the foot, and can be 
instantly adjusted inside of the boot, directly under 
the heel. All sizes, 25 cents per pair, mailed 
upon receipt of price. At all dealers. 

What People Say Who Wear Them: 

“Send six pairs more ; they are a grand success.” 

“ Entirely satisfactory ; send four pairs more.” 

“They give instant relief; send me three pairs 
more.” 

Endorsed by physicians for nervous troubles. 

C. J. BAILEY <fc CO., 

22 Boylston Street, - Boston, Mass. 

Everything in rubber goods. Catalogue mailed free. 







IS THE BEST IN MARKET. 


Simple of Manipulation. 

Plates or Films are used. 
The Shutter is always set. 
Covered with Feather. 


PRICE $18.00 

Send for Catalogue and copy of 
“Modern Photography.” 


We Make all Kinds of Cameras. 


ROCHESTER OPTICAL COMPANY, 

5 S. Water St., ROCHESTER, N. Y. 



n AKE NO MISTAKE 

in the matter of SEEDS. Demand and accept 
only D. M. Ferry & Co's. No weeds from 

Ferry’? Seed? 

A handsome book that tells all you want to 
know for your garden, will be mailed free if you 
ask for it. No planter, be he ever so expert, 
can afford to do without it. Send to-day. 

D. M. FERRY &, CO., 

P. O. Box 1318 DETROIT, MICH. 



HOLIDAY PRESENTS. 


We manufacture and sell direct 
to consumers at manufac- 
^ turers’ prices. ^ 


By 

buying from 
us, you will save all 
intermediate dealers’ profits. 

JOHN WALLIS & GO., 


Send 
two cents 
for Illustrated 
Catalogue, and be 
convinced. 

291 Church St., N.Y. 


THE ECONOMY OF FOOTWEAR. 

An illustrated pamphlet, interesting to every one 
who wears shoes, sent free on receipt of name and 
address on postal-card. Box 551, Brockton, Mass. 


FREEa 

SUPERB FORM- 
LOVELY COMPLEXION/!^. 

PERFECT HEALTH 7 

These are my portraits, and on 
account of the fraudulent air- _ 
pumps, “wafers,” etc., offered for 
development, I will tell any lady 
FREE what I used to secure 
these changes. HEALTH (cure 
of that “ tired ” feeling and 
all female diseases) Superb 
FORM, Brilliant EYES and \» 
perfectly Pure COMPLEX 
ION assured. Will send v "'~ 
sealed letter. Avoid advertising frauds. Name this paper 
sod address Mas. Ella M. Dun, SVATIOH B. Ban Francisco, Cal’ 




selected by mnil. For 8c. 

postage will send samples of 
our handsome papers, with 
borders to match, at I Union Wall Paper Co., 1638 
remarkably low prices. | Market Street, Phila., Pa. 



SHORTHAND 

Detroit, Mioh 


Celebrated Pernin System ; no Shading, no 
Position. Trial I.esson and circulars free. 


Write PERNIN SHORTHAND INSTITUTE, 


SPARKLING CHAMPAGNE 
Cider, FERMENTED and 
UNFERMENTED Cider, 
CIDER SYRUP and CIDER 
VINEGAR, of highest possi- 
ble Strength and Purity. 

CO ..UNIONVILLE, LAKE CO. O HIO. 

ely’s Catarrh 

CREAM BALM 

Cleanses the 
Nasal Passages, 

Allays Pain and 
Inflammation, 

HEALS THE SORES. 

Restores the 
Senses of Taste 
and Smell. 

TRY THE CURE. 



HAY-FEVER 



PATENTS 


50-page book free. 
W. T. Fitzgerald, 
Washington, D. €. 


A particle is applied into each nostril and is agree 
able. Price, 50 cents at Druggists or by mail.' 

ELY BROTHERS, 56 Warren St., New York. 


30 


BEHRING SPPHREL 

lHHEEH£tHHH HeHHHF7WFPP 


Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 
Dry Goods by Mail. 


STRAWBRIDGE & CLOTHIER, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


We are at all times prepared to 
mail samples without charge, upon 
request, and by reason of our 
promptness and care in filling or- 
ders, together with the universal 
moderation of prices that is char- 
acteristic of our establishment, 

OUR MAIL ORDER DEPARTMENT 

has become well and favorably 
known all over the United States. 

By giving us an opportunity of 
sending you samples, you will be 
enabled to inspect the very latest 
and most varied assortment of for- 
eign and domestic goods at your 
own home, and no obligation to 
purchase is laid upon you should 
our samples fail to give satisfaction. 


Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 
Samples without Charge. 


Strawbridge & Clotbier, {SHI Philadelphia. 


RUDENT purchasers save time and 
mental friction by careful discrimi- 
nation in their selection of sewing 
materials. 



1 

1iii=i!i:IYI AD E liiFRO MHilffl® 

ififfiEsB ESTitO F: WEBS 
JisbM ETALlTRIM M 1 N GS1: 
^WARRANTED NOT TO R US 
J ALU iPART S:D 0 U B LETS! ITCH 

tgl or m 

•T 18 90 


This group shows Silk, Button -Hole Twist 
and Worsted Roll Braid, each bearing the 
name Corticelli, which is a guarantee of 
excellence. The reputation of this brand 
has been secured by fifty-two years of 
effort, attended by uninterrupted success. 
With this name on Silk, Twist and Braid, 
all of one shade to match the garment and 
each other, no thoughtful buyer hesitates. 
NONOTUCK SILK CO., 


- -- -- - - — 


ONLY ONE 

HOSE SUPPORTER 


. ^ - - - - ^ 

j Which Can’t Cut the Stocking.! 

i E 


: All Others are Dangerous Substitutes, b 





m/ieM 


18 Identified by ROUNDED RIB ON HOLDING 
EDGES with WARREN stamped upon end of 
fastener. - 


New York, Boston, Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, 
and St. Paul. 




31 


\ FOR SALE EVERYWHERE, 

; ... . ...I. . . ... . . ....... « ' ■ 



S d.i^.rdr[5d.H^ r- 1 itxLrtrlri^ j^rl.r' rdd r 1 r 1 r 1 

HOUSEHOLD ARTICLES 

*'~ , r - 1 i- l E f ‘r - 1 r- r- 1 1 - 1 r J r J r J T 3 r J r J 




Tie DENSLQW HEATER 


FO/? DIRECT OR INDIRECT 
STEAM HEATING. 


THE ONLY SUCCESSFUL COMBINATION OP 
HOT AIR AND STEAM. 


ECONOMICAL IN PRICE AND IN FUEL. 


All interested in the perfect heating and ventilating 
of Homes, Churches, and Schools should read the 
information contained in our pamphlet, 

“A BURNING QUESTION. M 

DENSLOW HEATER COMPANY, 

Room 306, Builders’ Exchange, 

24 South Seventh Street, Philadelphia. 





HEATER 

— = FOR = 

STEAM* 

— OR — * 

HOT WATER 


FOR HARD OR SOFT COAL— MAGAZINE 
FEED OR SURFACE BURNING— HAS AS- 
BESTOS LINED JACKETS— CAN BE CLEANED IN 
5 MINUTES— ACTUALLY AUTOMATIC— POSITIVELY 
NON-EXPLOSIVE— A FUEL SAVER— AN ASSURED SUC- 
CESS-RESULTS GUARANTEED. NEW ILLUSTRATED DE- 
SCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE FREE TO ANY ADDRESS. 

new Sou! M WEHCE. BUTLER & PIERCE MFG CO. 

CHICAGO: 96 Lake St. GENERAL OFFICES : SY RACU S E, N U -S. A. 


H ARTMAN’S PATENT INSIDE 
SLIDING WINDOW BLIND 

Ii the most popular Blind in America. Arohl- 
teats and builders prefer it to any other, for 
merit, style, convenience and econo* 
my. Not complicated. The only Blind that 
is furnished with an automatic Burglar* 
Proof Lock, free of charge. Thii It an item 
of immense magnitude, and may tare you 
many times the cost of blinds and perhaps 
g life also, and the only blind that (Ives entire 
satisfaction. Thousands are In use. 
Agents wanted everywhere. Send for Ulus* 
trated oatalonue and prices. Manufactured by 

The Hartman Sliding Blind Co. 

No. 26 Beaver St., WOOSTER, 0. 

Send 4-cent stamp for our 80-page illustrated-cata- 
- ■ SLIDINL 



logue and prices to HARTMAN 


BLIND CO., Wooster, 0. 



HARTSHORN'S 


!: iriiiiririfVliHiM 


SELF-ACTIN6 ' 

SHADE ROLLERS 


Beware of Imitations. 

NOTICE 
AUTOGRAPH 


OH 

LABEL 

AND GET 



HE GENUINE 


STOUT 


PEOPLE I WEIGHT REDUCED 
WITHOUT STARVATION DIET. 
Treatise and Instruction for 4 stamps 
E.K. LYNTON. 18 Park Place, New York. 





Established 1850. 


WILLIAM WILES 


MANUFACTURER OF 


STAIR-RODS, STEP-PLATES, 

BRASS BEDSTEADS AND CRIBS, 

Fenders, Fire Sets, and Andirons, 

Ham l and Foot Rails, Fire Screens, Foot- 
stools, etc. 

223 AND 225 SOUTH FIFTH STREET, 

PHILADELPHIA. 

Send for Catalogue. 


A handsome catalogue of watches, chains 
and rings If you cut this out and send to 
W. SIMPSON, 37 College Place, New York. 


GOOD LADY WRITERS wanted TO DO 

copying at home. Address P.L. Supply Co., Lima, O. 


32 







STATIONERY >>><< 






NOT A NOVELTY 
OH EXPERIMENT, BUT A 
STANDARD ARTICLE 
WITH A WORLD-WIDE 
REPUTATION. 



THE PENS ARE 14-K GOLD, IRIDIUM POINTED. THE FOUNTAINS OR 
CASES ARE MADE FROM THE FINEST PARA RUBBER BY THE BEST 
WORKMEN, AND ALL ARE UNCONDITIONALLY GUARANTEED. 

Ask your dealer or send for catalogue. Mention Lippincott’s. 


A. W. FABER’S LEAD PENCILS, 

Pen-holders, Rubber Bands, and Pencil Sharpeners. 

If you cannot obtain these goods from your Stationer, send 80 cents for samples. 

EBEBHABD FABEE,, 

CHICAGO. SOLE AGENT AND MANUFACTURER. NEW YORK. 



GIEL’S EKmr Wwwslifc 


JasaiL 

SAMPLING 


fS 


OVEHONE HUMDRE 


VARIETIES AND SIZES 


MANUFACTURED BY 

& HAYDENS, 

ERBURYCONN 


HOJLMES,BOOTH 

FACTORIES WatE 

EbxkPlace andZZ Munay Street, NawYork. 




DIXON’S 


PENCILS 


Are unequaled for smooth, tough leads. 


If your stationer does not keep them, mention Lip- 
pincott’s Magazine and send 16c. in stamps to 
Joseph Dixon Crucible Company, Jersey City, N. J., 
for samples worth double the money. 


ESTABLISHED 1840. 

FRANKLIN 

PRINTING INK WORKS, 

JOHN WOODRUFF’S SONS, 

1217 and. 1219 Cherry Street, 


ALLSTATI ONERS SELL IT. 

EVERYBODY PRAISES IT. 
^Perfect Pen ci lPointer Co.PomiAND.Mt 


AM ERI CAN LEAD PEN 


Send 25c. for Sample# worth double. 


PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

This Magazine is printed with JohnWoodruff ’s Sons’ Inks. 


PftYSONS 


INDELIBLE INK. 


For marking on Linen with 
a common pen. Established 
over 50 years. Sold by all 
Druggists and Stationers in the U. S. If your dealer 
does not keep It, send 25c. for a bottle, post-paid, to 
A. L. Williaton, IVIfgr., Northampton, Mass. 


33 






WITH THE WITS. 



Different things require different treatment. Rest is good for some, tur- 
moil for others. For instance, a fife won’t play without its stops, and a banjo is 
of no use that has no frets. 


Seeking Consolation. 

When, after fruitless wastes of time, 
A man attains unto his prime 
Without advance in station, 

He looks about this earthly stage 
To see how many at his age 
Began their reputation. 


The moralist says every man should have fixed principles to live by. He 
has ; but he has fixed them to suit himself. 



34 





nS^S^HHHHHHEEBHEHEHEZEKEEEHEHEEEHEEHEHBHHHEHEE 


PROPR1ETHRY ARTICLES 



WHAT CURES PIMPLES 



The only really successful preventive and cure of pimples, blotches, 
blackheads, red, rough, and oily skin, and most complexional disfigura- 
tions, is that greatest of all Skin Purifiers and Beautifiers, the celebrated 
Cuticura Soap. For irritating and scaly humors of the scalp, with 
dry or falling hair, red, rough hands, chaps, painful finger ends with 
shapeless nails, and simple humors of the skin and scalp of infancy and 
childhood, it is simply infallible. 

CUTICURA SOAP 


A marvellous beautifier of world-wide celebrity, Cuticura Soap is simply incomparable 
as a Skin-Purifying Soap, unequalled for the Toilet, and without a rival for the Nursery. 
Absolutely pure, delicately medicated, exquisitely perfumed, it produces the whitest, clearest 
skin, and softest hands, and prevents inflammation and clogging of the pores, the cause of 
pimples, blotches, blackheads, red and oily skin, and most complexional disfigurations. It 
derives its remarkable medicinal properties from Cuticura, the great skin cure, but so delicately 
are they blended with the purest of toilet and nursery soap stocks that the result is a medicated 
toilet soap incomparably superior to all other skin and complexion soaps, while rivalling in 
delicacy and surpassing in purity the most noted and expensive of toilet and nursery soaps. For 
the prevention of facial blemishes, for giving a brilliancy and freshness to the complexion, and 
for cleansing the scalp and invigorating the hair, it is without a peer. Sale greater than the 
combined sales of all other skin soaps. Sold everywhere. 25 cents. 


with Itching and Burning Eczemas, and other itching, scaly, and blotchy 
skin and scalp diseases, are relieved by a single application, and speedily, 
permanently, and economically cured by Cuticura Remedies, 
the greatest Skin Cures, Blood Purifiers, and Humor Remedies of modern 
times. Price: Cuticura, the great Skin Cure, 50 cents; Cuticura Soap, 25 cents; Cuticura Resolvent, the 
new Blood Purifier, $1.00. Prepared by Potter Drug and Chemical Corporation, Boston, U.S.A. QRr “ All 
about the Blood, Skin, Scalp, and Hair” will be mailed free. 64 Pages, 300 Diseases, 50 Illustrations, 100 
Testimonials. 


Skins on Fire 



Style— TOURIST. 

Neatly packed, to carry in an or- 
dinary valise. Always ready for 
use on cars, at home, anywhere. 
Filters about one gallon per hour. 
$8.00, sent C. 0. D. to any address. 


PASTER 

GERM PROOF FILTERS 

Made in all styles and 

sizes to meet every 
requirement for pure 
water. The only filter 
that is guaranteed to re- 
move from water germs 
of Typhoid Fever, 
Cholera, Etc., and all 
suspended matter. 

Send for Descriptive 
Catalogue. 

Exclusive trade to dea- 
lers . No goods consigned . 


THE PASTEUR GHAMBERLAND FILTER CO. 


DAYTON, OHIO, U. S. A. 

Engraving of “Pasteur in his Laboratory’’ sent fre<£ 
to any address. Mention this paper. 


DR. E. C. WEST’S 

NERVE AND BRAIN 


Treatment, a specific for Hysteria, Dizziness, Fits, 
Nervous Neuralgia, Headache, Nervous Prostration 
caused by the use of alcohol or tobacco, Wakefulness, 
Mental Depression, Softening of the Brain, resulting 
in insanity, misery, decay, and death. Premature 
Old Age, caused by over-exertion of the Brain. Each 
box contains l month’s treatment. $1.00 a box, or 6 
boxes for $5.00. by mail 

WE GUARANTEE SIX BOXES. 

With each $5 order we will send a written guarantee 
to refund the money if the treatment does not cure. 
Guarantees issued only by Finnerty, McClure & 
Co., Sole Agts., 106 Market St., Philadelphia, Penna. 


“ONE MINUTE, PLEASE"! 



Dr. BURY’S LUNG BALSAM 

For Coughs and Colds (especially on the lungs), 
Asthma. Bronchitis, Ulcerated Throat, Hay 
Fever, Grippe, &c. 

Dr. BURY’S CATARRH SNUFF 

For Catarrh, Cold in the Head, Headache, and 
Hay Fever. 

Dr. Bury’s Camphor Ointment 

A Sure Cure for all kinds of Piles, Burns, Salt 
Rheum, and all Skin Diseases. Colds, Sprains, 
Chilblains, Quinsy, Sore Throat, Chapped 
Hands, Ague in the Face, Broken Breast, Ear- 
ache, Neuralgia, &c. 

Covert’s Gelatine Lozenges, &c. 

These remedies at Druggists or by mail, 

PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. 

Dr. BUR Y MEDICAL CO. 

Sole Proprietors and Manufacturers, 

West Troy, N. Y. 


35 








SAFEST, 

FASTEST , 

and FINEST 

TRAINS IN AMERICA . 

RVN VIA 

BALTIMORE a OHIO RAILROAD 



BETWEEN 


NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA, 

BALTIMORE, and WASHINGTON. 

ALL TRAINS VESTIBULED FROM END TO END, 

And protected by Pullman’s Anti-Telescoping Appliance, including Baggage Cars, Day Coachea, 

Parlor Cars, and Sleepers. 

ALL CARS HEATED BY STEAM AND LIGHTED BY PINTSCH GAS. 


Tlie BALTIMORE and OHIO RAILROAD 

Maintains a Complete Service of Vestibuled Express Trains between 

NEW YORK. CINCINNATI. 
ST. LOUIS, AND CHICAGO. 

EQUIPPED WITH 

ZPTTLLII^^IISr 

Palace Sleeping Gars 

Running Through Without Change. 



I ALL B. and 0. TRAINS 


BETWEEN THE 

EAST and WEST, 


RUN VIA WASHINGTON. 




£ 211 Washington St., Boston, Mass. 

415 Broadway, New York. 

N.E. Cor. 9th and Chestnut Sts., Phila., Pa. 
Cor. Baltimore and Calvert Sts., Baltimore, 
Md. 


PRINCIPAL OFFICES. 


J. T. ODELL, 

General Manager 


. } BALTIMORE. MD. { 

36 


1351 Pennsylvania Aye., Washington, D.C. 
Cor. Wood St. and Fifth Ave., Pittsburg, Pa. 
Cor. 4th and Vine Sts., Cincinnati, O. 

193 Clark St., Chicago, 111. 

105 N. Broadway, St. Louis, Mo. 


CHAS. O. SCULL, 

General Passenger Agent. 



r 1 r* r*^ f 1 r* r* cLt^ T" r*r , |—r J r-r- , r-‘i-'r - 1 r J r J r J r J i- J r- l r 3 r J r- l i - 1 


WEARING APPAREL 



| p^ 7=rpprrrp‘pm=rp?r? 

o’neill’s 

Importers 1 and Retailers. 


Millinery, 

Dry Goods, 

Dress Trimmings, 
Velvets, 

Gloves, Silks, 
Hosiery, Laces, 
Ladies’ and Misses’ 
Suits and Cloaks, 



Upholstery Goods, 
Curtains, 

Fine Furniture, 
Clocks, Jewelry, 

Silverware, 
House Furnishing 
Goods, 

China, Glassware. 


SPECIAL NOTICE. — To out-of-town customers: The Fall and Winter 
edition of our Illustrated Catalogue now ready. Sent free upon appli- 
cation. Send in your name at once if you wish one, as the supply is 
limited. 

LL O’NEILL & CO., 

6th. Avenue, SOth to 21st Streets, 

NKW YORK. 

NORMANDIE PLUSHES. 


Direct from the Mills. 



[Sofa Pillow 


In general use for 
Children’s Wear, Dress 
and Hat Trimmings. 

Special 

AVer it 

For Painting and Em- 
broidery, Draping 

purposes, and the ma- 
ny kinds of FANCY 
WORK that make 
home pleasant and at- 
tractive. 



Special Introductory OlTer. 

Send 10 cents for 30 good-sized 
samples (no two colors same 
shade), and Price List of rem- 
nant packages. Price of sam- 
ples deducted from first order 
amounting to $1.00. 

AGENTS 

WANTED. 

Pleasant and profitable 

work. 

Write at once for particulars, 
and secure an Agency. 


[Work Basket.] 

Above Illustrations are introduced to show two of the scores of articles that oan be made of our Plushes. We furnish material only. 

Grant Ave., MANVILLE, R. I. 


CONTREXEVILLE MANFG. CO., 


High 

CLASSi 

Low 

Price 


made cemented together with gutta 
percha, with a triple silesia cap cement- 
ed to the ends of the steel. Will not cut through or rust. ££ir See 
name “Perfection” stamped on each. Ask your dealer for them, or write for samples. 


THE ONLY DRESS STAY 

■ aH t.n t.h« f>nd<» nf t.h#> sfci 



Manufac- 
tured by 

THE DETROIT STAY CO., DETROIT, MICH. 


New York Office and Salesroom. S33 Broadway. 



HAIR DESTROYED FOREVER 

By Electric Needle, 

at office or by patient at home. Can’t 
Fail. Book with facts lOcts- Address 

Dr. J. VanDYCK, Electro Surgeon, 
1106 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


30 


days on trial, Rood’s Magic Scale, the popu- 
lar Ladies’ Tailoring System. Illustrated cir- 
cular free. Rood Magic Scale Co., Chicago, 111. 


|%| AtfA Dialogues, Sp< 
lf| fl Y XClub and Parle 
ikM I Ot S. DENISON, 


eakers, for School, 
or. Catalogue free. 
Publisher, Chicago. 


37 







' to Buffet 

H • ,< 


IN DTE 


BY SPECIAL TRAIN ON THE NEW YORK CENTRAL 
FASTEST TIME FOR A LONG- DISTANCE RUN EVER MADE 




ijpqrfi 


WASHINGTON BRIDGE , HARLEM RIVER, MEW YORK CENTRAL a HUDSON RIVER RAILROAD 
Total length 2375 ft. length of span 511 ft. height above water 152 ft. 4 In. width so ft. 


-""Via New York Central* 
Hudson River Railroad 


The New York l Chicago Limited. 


The SouthtWesterh Limited, 
The North Shore Limited 


9 John M.Toucey, J 

General Manager. i 


PRESENTING A 

Matchless Service 


George H.Daniels 


General Passenger Agent, 




38 



I 


VALUE RECEIVED! 

For Your Money, When you Buy a 

“Brown’s Perfection Shoe Rest” 

Holds Brush, Dauber, Blacking, and Ladies’ Dress- 
ing. A perfect rest for the foot while polishing the 
shoe. “ Always ready and out of the wav.” 

FOR HOMES, OFFICES, STORES, BANKS, Etc. 
Description.— This Shoe-Rest is made of solid 
cast-iron, weighs 12 lbs., and is beautifully finished. 
It screws to any w T all or door-case and swings en- 
tirely out of way when not in use. No dirt and un- 
necessary to touch blacking while using it. 
LADIES, GENTLEMEN, and CHILDREN USE IT. 
“ Warren 5c. Savings Bank, pEABonY, Mass. 
“Gents ,— The Shoe-Rest purchased of you recently 
just fills the bill. It is neat and tasty, takes up but 
little room, and answers its purpose admirably. It 
is the most complete blacking arrangement T have 
ever seen. Yours truly, A. H. MERRILL, Treas.” 


The New World Typewriter 



The only Simple, Durable, Practical, Low- 
Priced Typewriter in the market. 


WRITES 11 CHARACTERS. 



PRICE BY EXPRESS, $2.00. Sent neatly packed 
on receipt of price. Address 


National Shoe Rest Co., Detroit, Mich. 

Dealers write for circulars and prices. 

SKLESMEN MKNTBD. 


DON’T PASS THIS. 

OYER 26,000 IN USE. 

This Bedroom Con- 
venience is invaluable 

For Invalids, 

The Aged and Infirm, 
In Cases of Sickness 

Prices. S8.00 to $14.00 

Send 6c. for 24-page Illustrated Catalogue of Earth 
Closets; 5c. for “ Healthy Homes; How to Have Them.” 
36 pages valuable information. 

Heap’s Patent Earth Closet Co., 

Muskegon, Mich. 



No Instruction required. 

Does work equal to $100 Machine. 

An Elegant Holiday Present for Ladies 
or Gentlemen. 

Suitable for the Counting-Room or 
Boudoir. 


Send for Illustrated Catalogue. 


THE TYPEWRITER I|VIPROVEIMEUT GO., 

4 P. O. Square, Boston. 

164 La Salle St., Chicago. 

ASSIGNEE SALE. 

MEW RAPID 
N TYPEWRITERS 

Former Price $70. I Also all 
Price Now 835. I makes 
New and Second-hand Type 
writers. 8 5 Typewriter Stands 
with drop leaf and drawer for SiTv* 

A.W.GCMP & CO.Dayton,q> 




AJITHVI AKD <a> ttiuau w 

DESKS, 

Chairs. 

Office Furniture. 

SEND FOR CATALOGUE 

DERBY&KILIRDESKCO. 

m SALESROOMS 

•93 Causeway5t. BOSTON. 
19 Beekman St.N.Y. 




All kinds of Hardwood Floors, plain and orna- 
mental. Also prepared wax and polishing brushes. 
Send for catalogue and circular on care of floors. 
WOOD MOSAIC CO ., 17 Hibbard St., Rochester, 
N. Y., and 315 Fifth Avenue. New York City. 


39 










WITH THE WITS. 



A Naval Analogy. 

The little cork has such a grip 
It’s difficult to part it ; 

It often takes, as on a ship, 

A whole cork’s-crew to start it. 


An obese individual can strike but one pose, — adipose. 


“Only the hustler gets ahead,” 

Said one with manner sly ; 

“If that is true,” another cried, 

Whose head with drink was amplified, 
“What a hustler then am I !” 



40 





Saves Coal, Keeps In the Heat, Keeps out Dampness, Malaria, etc. 

Takes the place of Back Plaster, is far Superior and Cheaper. 




Are Necessary in the Erection of 
Every Well-Constructed Building. 

ALL RELIABLE ARCHITECTS ENDORSE. 


Samples and full particulars FREE to all. Send for them to 

■ J • • ' - / 

F. W. Bird & Son, Manufacturers, Fast Walpole, Mass. 


Water-Proof. Frost-Proof. Air-Tight Vermin-Proof. 

They cost but one-third the price of shingles. Absolutely Water-Proof, Frost- 
Proof, and Air-Tight. Any one can put them on. They will save you money. 

Cover and sheathe your barn, all of your out-buildings. Protect your green- 
houses and hot-beds. Sheathe your houses, etc. The best thing made, and is 
low cost. 


A h appy wife 

7 DAYS IN A WEEK. 
30 DA VS IN A MONTH. 
305 DAYS IN A YEAR. 
There is no mistake about it if 
you get her a 

PERFECTION 

FLOUR BSNISIEVE. 

We claim it’s a 

HOUSEHOLD NECESSITY. 

You will say so too after using 
it, and wonder why you didn’t 
get one before. 

REMEMBER THIS. 

It is & combination Bin, Sifter, 
Pan, and f-coop. Holds a full 
sack of flour and sifts it the 
finest you ever saw. It saves 
all of the flour; no scattering, 
and it will never mould or get 
musty. 



made OF 

SPECIAL OFFER. 


Circulars and 
Tcstimonia.s 
FREE, 


Prices ( 25 lbs $2.50 
to -< 50 lbs. $3. CO 
hold, 1 100 lbs. $4 00 
If our agent or your dealer can 

not supply you, F D I? P 

we will send vou one of these Bins ■ ■* K 
if you will sell, two of them which you can easily do 
among your friends. Send us the price of two bins, 
and we will send yon three, and guarantee satis- 
faction to all. SHERMAN & miTI.ER. 
26-2S W. Lake St., B 121, CHICAGO, ILL. 


CABOT’S 


Creosote Shingle Stains 



“The Only Exterior Coloring 
That Poes IV ot Blacken.” 

With these stains you obtain 1 
a durability equal to that of the- 
best paint, at about one-half the 
cost, in both the material and 
labor. 

Send 6 cents in stamps for Samples on Wood, with i 
Sheaf of Sketches of Creosoted Houses, and Circu- 
lars containing full information to 

SAMUEL CABOT, ! 


Sole Manufacturer, 


78 KILBY STREET, 


BOSTON, MASS. 


41 




NEW EQUIPMENT 

Built expressly for this Service, 
and consisting of 

PULLMAN COMPARTMENT 
SLEEPING-CAR, . 

RECLINING-CHAIR CARS, 
and 

COMPARTMENT COACH AND 
SMOKER. 

A VESTIBULE TRAIN 

LIGHTED BY GAS THROUGHOUT iP UNSURPASSED 
IN ELEGANCE AND EQUIPMENT . 

Leaves Chicago Daily at 
9.00 P.M. 

(Schedule of October 18, 1891), 
and runs to St. Louis, 
via 

Gilman, Gibson, Farmer City, 

Clinton, Decatur, Pana, 
and Vandalia, 111., 
without change or waits of any 
kind. 

Tickets and further information can be obtained of 
Ticket Agents of the Illinois Central Railroad 
and Connecting Lines. 

J. T. HARAHAN, T. J. HUDSON, 

Second Vice-President . Traffic Manager. 

Chicago, III. 



M. C. MARKHAM, 

Ass’ t Traffic Manager. 


A. H. HANSON, 

Gen' l Passenger Agent. 



42 




35EZaSE3HHHHH3E2E5EEHHHESEHHEHH5ESEH2HHH2ESS213H 

m ISC ELL H N EOUS 

22BS2SaS 5aE2Z5aaa25B25ZHSZ Z52aSBga2agg525aS5B 53 



CALIFORNIA 


WINTER SEASON, 

1801 - 1802 . 



The Attention of Tourists and Health Seekers is called to 

THE CELEBRATED 


HOTEL DEL MONTE , 

Monterey, cal., 

America’s Famous SUMMER and WINTER Resort. 

ONLY 3 H HOURS FROM SAN FRANCISCO 

By Express Trains of the Southern Pacific Company. 


MIDWINTER SCENES AT HOTEL DEL MONTE. 


Rates for Board : By the day, $3.00 and upward. 
Parlors, from $1.00 to $2.50 per day, extra. Children, in 
children’s dining-room, $2.00 per day. 


Particular attention iscalledto the moderate charges 
for accommodations at this magnificent establishment. 
The extra cost of a trip to California is more than coun- 
terbalanced by the difference in rates at the various 
Southern Winter Resorts and the incomparable Hotel 
del Monte. 

OPEN ALL THE YEAR ROUND. 


Intending Visitors to California and the Hotel del 
Monte have the choice of the “Sunset,” “Cenirnl,” or 
“ Shasta” Routes. These three routes, the three main arms of 
the great railway system of the Southern Pacific Company, 
carry the traveller through the best sections of California, and any 
one of them will reveal wonders of climate, products, and scenery 
that no other part of the world can duplicate. For illustrated de- 
scriptive pamphlet of the hotel, and for information as to routes of 
travel, rates for through tickets, etc., call upon or address E. 
HAWLEY) Assistant Qeneral Traffic Manager, Southern Pacifio 
Company, 343 Broadway. New York. 

For further information, address 

GEORGE SCHONEWALD, Manager Hotel del Monte, 
MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA. 


HYGE1A HOTEL 


OLD POINT COMFORT, YA. 

Situated within a few rods of Fortress Monroe, 
where daily inspections, drills, guard mounting, and 
dress parade take place. The scenic attractions of 
Old Point Comfort are unrivalled. 

The hotel is supplied with all modern improve- 
ments, including Turkish, Russian, Electric, and 
Hot Sea baths, the latter justly celebrated for their 
efficacy in rheumatic troubles. The close proxim- 
ity of the Gulf Stream, less than thirty miles dis- 
tant, insures a mild, bracing climate, in which 
malaria is unknown. 

Music afternoon and evening; frequent germans 
and balls. Nervousness and insomnia speedily and, 
in most cases, permanently relieved. - All things 
considered, the most comfortable and delightful re- 
sort at which to spend the winter months in the 
United States. Average winter temperature is 48 
degrees. Send for illustrated descriptive pamphlet. 

F. N. PIKE, Manager. 


FLORIDA! 

For information as to the ORANGE BEET and 
the BEST PART of THE STATE for HEALTH, 
PLEASURE, or PROFIT, send your address to 

Jj. Y. JENNESS, St. Petersburg, Fla. 


“A UNIQUE CORNER OF THE EARTH.” 

Full description in the new book just published by 
the Hotel del Coronado, CORONADO BEACH, 
San Diego County, California. Mailed free. 


NEW YORK— THE BUCKINGHAM HOTEL. 

For Permanent and Transient Guests. 


BUCKINGHAM 

HOTEL 

(. European Plan), Fifth Ave. 


'’pHE most fashionable, con- 
venient, and healthy locality, 
with magnificent dining-rooms, 
unsurpassed cuisine, elegant 
public and private sitting-rooms. 
Every modern improvement, 
perfect sanitation, and moderate 
charges. 

Wetherbee & Fuller, 

PROPRIETORS. 


43 



WITH THE WITS. 



An Illiterate Queen. 


Cleopatra was unable to write. She even had trouble with her Marc. 


Inveterate Gamesters. 

Degenerate are sheep and colts, 

As has been often seen, 

For though they are not skilled in vice, 
Or cannot play with cards and dice, 
They gambol on the green. 


The kleptomaniac should eventually find some relief for his peculiar disease ; 
he is always thking something for it. 





JH ^.ci ^^dxd^LdL^^jcddl 

gfll_MISCELLHNEOUS 

EHZE2E2EHEctHa.JH^ H HFP mPP?7=^ P? P^?r^ 7T^^ g?y ^^ 




Daily tests in card playing countries throughout the world confirm the 
ited States ” Cards. Of th( 


Cabinet. 

Congress. 


excellence of the “United States” Cards. Of the many brands issued at 
our factories the following are adapted especially to Club Games and 
Card Parties: 

Capitol. Sportsman’s. 

Army and Navy. Treasury. 

Insist upon having them from your dealer. 

THE UNITED STATES PRINTING CO., 

The Russell & Morgan Factories , Cincinnati, 0. 

“The Card Players' Companion,” showing how games are played, and 
giving prices of 40 brands — 400 kinds — of playing cards, will be sent to any 
one who will mention where this advertisement was seen and enclose a 
two-cent stamp. 


TRADE 



Dorflinger’s 
American 
Cut Glass 

for the table is Perfec- 
tion. For sale by all 
first-class jewelers, 
glass and china dealers. 

Every piece has this label. 


TRADE 



jUAUK, 


GREAT OFFER I Si 

+ $35. -f ORCHflS T 

Direct from the Factory at Manufacturer's Prices. No such 
offer ever made before. Every man his own agent. Examine 
in your home before paying. Write for particulars. Address 

theT. Swoger & Son Pianos & Organs 

BEAVER FALLS, PENNSYLVANIA* 

From Ruv. Jamfs H. Potts, D.D., Editor of Michigan Christian Advocate, Detroit, Mich. — “ To say we are 
delighted with the Piano does not express the fact. We are jubilant. If all your instruments are as fine in ap- 
pearance and as pleasing in tone as this one, your patrons will rise by the hundred.’’ 

From A. C. Chapman, Esq., Benton Centre, N. Y.— “We are very greatly pleased with the tone of the 
organs.'* (One for Church and one for Sunday-School.) 

FINEST FACTORY IN THE UNITED STATES. 

Always ready for QUICK SHIPMENTS of Pianos and Organa direct to your home. 

45 


Pittsburgh. Pa. 

on lines 



$35 


P. 0., 

Beaver 

FftUs,Pa. 







3"P7JP7 H r-» I^pm gg p^p d d. r£H.d "PF F r ? rrrr- P P .HddLHiiB,Cd.d| 

BOOKS - : ^ 



a Supplement to 




^°lu 


ALLIBONE’S 
CRITICAL DICTIONARY 


Two Volumes. 

Imperial 8vo. 

Nearly Sixteen 
Hundred Pages. 

Cloth, $15.00. 

Sheep, $17.00. 

Half Russia, $20.00. 

Half calf, $22.00. 

Half morocco, $22.00. 


OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AND 
BRITISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS. 

by John Poster Kirk. 


E xtract from the preface.— “ From the first 
publication of Allibone’s Dictionary its value 
has been recognized and the use of it in public 
and private libraries has constantly extended and 
increased. Covering as it does the whole field of 
English literature, and combining biographical, bib- 
liographical, and critical material, it is, in fact, a 
unique work, — indispensable as a library companion, 
serviceable to all students of subjects comprehended 
in its range, and not without interest for readers of 
every class who may be led by some casual desire for 
information to consult its pages. Produced by a vast 
amount of careful and diligent labor, it supplies a 
general and permanent need, and it has, consequently, 
had no rival and run no risk of being supplanted. 

. . . How rapid has been the rate of literary produc- 
tion in recent years — rivalling the accelerated speed 
of travel and the multiplication of mechanical inven- 
tions — will be apparent on the merest glance through 
these volumes. Covering a comparatively short 
period, they contain more than half as many pages as the original work, 
and this although the matter is in many respects given in a more concise 
form, everything being pruned away which in a strict view of the require- 
ments of the task might be considered superfluous. 

“A closer comparison of the two works will show still more plainly the 
enormous progressive activity of modern authorship and the need of con- 
densation in all non-essential particulars in a record like the present. The 
original work contains the names and enumerates the works of 4 over forty- 
six thousand’ authors. . . . The present work, confined to a period not 
exceeding an average of thirty years, contains the names of thirty-seven 
thousand one hundred and eighty-three authors. . . . The general plan 
and method of the original work have been followed in the Supplement.” 



Allibone’s Dictionary and Supplement complete. Five Volumes. Cloth, $37.50. 

Sheep, $42.50. 


For Sale by all Booksellers. 


Half Russia, $50.00. 
Half calf, $55.00. 

Half morocco, $55.00. 


J 


B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. 


46 



MISCELLANEOUS 


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Itching Skin Humors 

Torturing, Disfiguring Eczemas 

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CUTICURA 

Remedies are the greatest skin cures, blood purifiers, and humor 
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4 ®=* “ How to Cure Diseases of the Skin and Blood,” 64 Pages, 300 Diseases, 50 Illustrations, 100 Testi- 
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Cuticura Remedies are sold throughout the world. Price, Cuticura, 50c. ; Cuticura Soap, 25c. ; Cuticura 
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. . red, rough hands, painful finger ends and shapeless nails are prevented and 

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(WrT7^J32SS2HS5S2SHH2SS2HSHHHEHHEHHEESH5EESE2ZSES2SSSJ^JJ| 

books 

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SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY 

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UNIFORM IN STYLE, SIZE, AND BINDING. 


HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST 
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three-quarters calf, $13.00. 

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can be found in almost any other four volumes that 
can be selected from a library. The best samples 
from every American author of note in history, 
poetry, art, fiction, and philosophy are grouped 
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*** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of the price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

48 




r> r 1 H r 1 r H r 1 r 1 niHd r^d.cid£5^?EHEHSHEEHEgH5 |.| 

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“THE BELLE OF NELSON” 

an elegant HAND-MADE sour-mash whiskey, 
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JAPANESE 

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49 



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“Alas, the gruesome paradox !” — 

Old Threadbare ’twas who said it, — 
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But not a single credit.’ ’ 


Champagne retains its vigor by being bottled. It’s the same with some of 
the adherents of home rule : they are most active in Cork. 


The title-loving Southerner 
Should find his bliss supernal 
In every healthy nut he cracks, 
For it contains a kernel. 





OF 
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SODA, 
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CUBES 

CONSUMPTION. 
COUGHS. COLDS. ASTHMA, 
BRONCHITIS. DEBILITY 
WASTING DISEASES, and all 
SCROFULOUS HUMORS 


Almost as palatable as cream, 
pleasure by delicate persons and children, who, after 
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food, increases the flesh and appetite, builds up the ner- 
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BLOOD, 

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This preparation Is far superior to allyather preparations of Cod-Liver 
Oil; it has many imitators, but no equals. The results following its use 
are its best recommendations. Be sure, as you value vour health, and get 
the genuine. Manufactured only by DR. ALEXR B. WILROK. 
Chemist, Boston, Mass. Send for illustrated circular, which will be 
mailed free. g^Solu by^uUrdggisw^a 


COMPOUND OF 

God Liver Oil And Phosphates 

It has required much experience and care to en- 
able the proprietor to combine the Oil and Phos- 
phates so that they would become thor- 
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the only recipe by which this can be ac- 
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tage which the Pure Cod Liver Oil pos- 
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plain cod liver oil, is the fact that be- 
sides adding largely to its 
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the oil pure and sweet for a 
longer period than it can be 
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This fact alone would recom- 
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not alsoadd vastly to the heal- 
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fectly 


Palatable 

and pleasant. 


THE “ECONOMY” WALL DESK. 


An elegant piece of furniture, beautifying vour home, office, laboratory, 
library, private office, bank, or store, and an indispensable convenience to 
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it is a pleasure to use one. Listen to what the Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D., 
pastor of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, and editor of the Christian Union, says: 

“It seems to me the biggest multum In the smallest parvo I have ever seen. 
For convenience of packing away much store in small space it competes with 
the famous bee cells; and for convenience of getting at the store, the bee 
cells are nowhere in comparison. It makes easy observance of the motto, 
'A place for everything and everything in its place.’ If any words of mine 
can put this desk into a deskless home, I shall have put that home under 
obligations to me. (Signed) LYMAN ABBOTT.” 

We also manufacture the “ Favorite” combination desk. The best stand- 
ing desk on the market. Orders for special designs solicited. Send for 
catalogue to 



CORTLAND DESK CO., Limited, CORTLAND, N. V. 


Send for the “ Queen 
City” Receipt Book 
of Prize Receipts. 
Mailed free for the 
asking. 



Shepard Hardware Co. 

Mammcth Foundry, 

Buffalo, N. Y. 


^end your came and express-office address on a postal card, and 
w. will tend you free to examine, a SOLID GOLD finished 
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turn it. W. S. SIMPSON, 8? Collese Place New York* 



A WORLD-RENOWNED REMEDY for HOARSENESS, 
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parts, they give prompt relief. A standard remedy; sold! 
everywhere, and recommended by physicians for over] 
forty years. Singers and Speakers use them to clear the voice. 



WITH THE WITS . 



52 


I 


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|HHS H55HHH gS £HH i £^H HHg HH5EH S HHgEEg . EE d.d.d, r l j ddd.£ 

MISOELLHN EOUS. 

I c Lcij ^ H r 1 r 1 r 1 5552 P r 1 F? FS.iiiiHEHirriS Fi^r f HHFPHF rTE HEg FHF 7 



PERSONAL LOVELINESS 

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dentifrice, FRACRANT 

SOZODONT 

which imparts whiteness to them, without the least 
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favor with the fair sex, because it lends an added charm 
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THE STOCKINGS THAT ARE STAMPED 




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53 




^^^^^^^^^^ r i r i f j r j r j r3 7T??ggggg rWr»HHr»HHr J fjHS g 5r r ? , Pr r .?r r ^r | 

BOOKS 

| J ^^J^_ r r737TrJ'rJV»PrJrJ r* ,J ^ r S^-^rpr^f^ ,J r* r- r-< r" r" r" r- r' J-f" «- r" r^r* cU=L 




OMPLETE AND AUTHORIZED * * * 

* * EDITIONS OF THE WORKS OF 


WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT. 


WITH NOTES BY JOHN FOSTER KIRK. 


/ 

THE NEW 

POPULAR EDITION. 


Issued in sixteen volumes, containing the Life of Pres- 
cott. Sold separately or in complete sets, bound in neat 
cloth, historical style, with gilt top. 

The Conquest of Mexico, 3 vols., $1.50. Conquest of 
Peru, 2 vols., $2.00. Ferdinand and Isabella, 3 vols., 
$3.00. The Reign of Charles V., 3 vols., $3.75. The 
Reign of Philip II., 3 vols., $3.75. Miscellanies, I vol., 
$1 25. Life of Prescott, 1 vol., $1.25. Complete Set, 16 
vols., cloth, gilt top, $16.50. Without Life* 15 vols., 
$15.25. 16 vols, half calf, $32.00. 


Intended to meet the increasing demand for such stand- 
ard authors as are now required by recent courses in Eng- 
lish in our leading schools and colleges. Published in five 
volumes, printed on fine paper, and contains the maps and 
illustrations that have appeared in other editions. 

Each volume complete and sold separately at $1.00 per 
volume: The Conquest of Mexico, History of Ferdinand 
and Isabella, Conquest of Peru and Miscellanies, The 
Reign of Charles V., The Reign of Philip II. Price per 
set: Cloth, $5.00; extra cloth, gilt top, $6.25; half calf, 
gilt top, $12.50; half calf, marbled edges, $12.50. 


THE 

STUDENT’S EDITION. 


THE 

LIBRARY EDITION. 


Complete in twelve handsome octavo volumes. Printed 
in large type, on fine paper, and contains the steel portraits 
and maps. 

Neatly bound in cloth, $2.50 per volume : Conquest of 
Mexico, 2 vols., Conquest of Peru, 2 vols., Ferdinand and 
Isabella, 2 vols., The Reign of Charles V., 2 vols., The 
Reign of Philip II., 3 vols., Miscellanies, 1 vol. 


SPECIAL ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS. 


Containing all the steel plates on India paper and maps 
that have appeared in former editions. With Thirty 
Phototype Illustrations. Large type, printed on fine 
paper, and neatly bound. 2 vols., 8vo., half morocco, 
gilt top, $10.00 net. 


HISTORY OF THE REIGN 
OF FERDINAND AND 
ISABELLA. 


HISTORY OF THE 
CONQUEST OF MEXICO. 

i 


With a life of the conqueror, Fernando Cortez, and a 
view of the Ancient Mexican civilization. Containing all 
the steel plates on India paper and maps that have ap- 
peared in former editions. With Thirty Phototype 
Illustrations. Large type, on fine paper, and neatly 
bound. 2 vols., 8vo, half morocco, gilt top, $10.00. 


For sale by all Booksellers , or will 
be sent by the Publishers , free 0/ ex- 
pense, on receipt of the price . 


J 


. B. LIPP1NCOTT COMPANY, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. 


54 



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Do You Want One? 

A Book. A book with a purpose. Not 
for the well and hearty; rather for the sick 
and weak, “ other half” of humanity. The 
book is practical — it appeals to the common 
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History repeats itself. So does disease. 
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is traveling an unknown way of suffering. 
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the facts it sets forth as reliable as those of Lossing or Bancroft. 

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for the asking. 

Drs. STARKEY & PALEN, 1529 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

120 Sutter St., San Francisco, Cal. 66 Church St., Toronto, Canada. 



56 


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Liebig 

COMPANY’S 


Extract ot M 


FOR 

Improved and 
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RECIPE FOR FISH SAUCE. 

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BE SURE THAT YOU GET 
THE GENUINE 


Liebig COMPANY’S Extract 

with Justus von Liebig’s signature on 
the jar, as shown above. 


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JOSEPH G-IIaliOTT’S STEEL PEES. 



PO 

Absolutely Pure 


A cream of tartar baking powder. High- 
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OF THBAGE 
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“SODA” SOAPS 
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Transparent Soaps contain methylated spirit, 
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VINOLIA SOAP. 


Which is pure and contains Extra Cream. 
Medical as cents, Toilet 3s cents. Vestal 8s cents per tablet 

BLONDEAU «t CIE., 73 and 75, Watt* St., New York. 


GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1378. 



Maker & Co.’s 

Breakfast 


Cocoa 


from which the excess of 
oil has been removed, 

la Absolutely Pure 
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No Chemicals 


are used in its prep- 
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SOLD BY QROCER8 EVERYWHERE. 


W. BAKER A CO., DORCHESTER, MASS. 




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THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS. 


For Extra Fine Writing , Jo. 303. For Fine 
and General Writing, Foe. 404 and 004 . For 
Artists* Use, Foe. 050 ( Crow Quill) and HOI. 


JOSEPH GIIXOTT & SONS. 


Henry Hoe. sole agent. 




























































































































































































































































































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